Play Dead
by lezlarr
Summary: All-human A/U. Vegeta, a mercenary, is given the task of killing heiress Bulma Briefs. But what are the consequences when the hit goes awry? M for language, violence, and adult themes.
1. Lucky Shot

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon**** Ball/Z/GT.**

* * *

**Lucky Shot**

He was beginning to get impatient when the brown door to the private office creaked open and revealed a man with a pale face, big, gold eyes, and long green hair. No words were exchanged, but the smaller man in the hallway entered nonetheless. Behind a desk, sitting in a high-backed chair was a smaller, slender figure. They were staring out of a window.

"I have a job for you."

A folder slid across the dark wood. His dark eyes surveyed the pictures blankly.

"Don't make it look like a hit. Be discrete, if you are at all capable of doing so."

_Isn't this the Briefs girl?_

She was unmistakable. That blue hair. With a quick nod, the mercenary turned on his heel and strolled quickly out.

* * *

_"Chi-Chi wants to meet for lunch. You in?"_

_"Why do you ask? I have to follow you, Bulma; it's kinda my job."_

_"I know, but last time-"_

_"Won't happen again. I'll be sure to keep my trap shut this time."_

It was good thing he was a patient man. Well, mostly. The tracking was the worst part. Sitting in cars and cafes, trying to look inconspicuous and inconsequential, listening intently without giving away he was following them. The sneaking, at this point in his life, was second nature. It was the listening that bothered him. Sometimes he got some good, interesting information, and his boss would reward him doubly if it was worth his while. But the Briefs girl? No. If she wasn't a renowned scientist, a lead engineer of Capsule Corporation, Vegeta would have been positive she didn't have an ounce of sense in her blue head. Everything she talked about was banter, _pointless_ banter, and her moron of a security guard just smiled and nodded. The mercenary had a problem taking the towering man seriously; bulky or not, the guy was a dunce. And he was supposed to be protecting the most famous woman this side of the globe? Fantastic. Just made his job easier.

He was sitting in his car now, a simple, black, two-door sedan with no unique markings and a fake license plate, parked just outside of a clothing store. The audio transmitter he had attached to the woman's purse was successful, and he was listening to the conversation via an earpiece in his right ear. The book held in front of him was completely ignored, even though he turned the page occasionally. Eyes closed and a bored expression on his face, Vegeta reached deep into his mind and gripped what little patience remained.

God, but the woman could **talk**.

_"How does this one look?"_

_"Gee, Bulma, I really dunno why you're asking me. I'm not good with this kinda thing."_

One of the hardest parts was staying focused on the task at hand,

_"I need a man's opinion, Goku, and you're a man. I mean, I already know it looks _good_, but I want to know what a _guy_ thinks."_

especially since he was fairly sure the blue-haired vixen was in a lingerie store.

_"Well, if you already know it looks good, why do you need my opinion?"_

However, the man was accustomed to ignoring his baser thoughts,

_"Because I want to know I'm irresistible."_

even when those baser thoughts were on slender legs that stretched for days, or the curving hips the led to.

_"Aw, c'mon, Bulma, you already know you're pretty. Just pick the one you think he'll like."_

No, he thought of the gun he would need to hit a target at 140 meters with a 10 mph wind and the angle at which he would have to aim to carry the bullet just so.

_"Hm… I think the red one. It really looks nice with my hair."_

He ran through his list of pressure points on the human body that would incapacitate or even kill an attacker.

_"Can we leave now?"_

He thought of what he would scavenge for dinner. Pizza, maybe.

_"Yeah, I just need to make one more stop, okay?"_

He turned a page, glanced around calmly for signs of someone else watching him.

Anything but those legs.

* * *

Most of the information on the girl, her guards, her family, and her close relations had already been gathered. Bulma Briefs wasn't exactly a private person. She was adventurous, rambunctious, opinionated, genius, and vain. This didn't leave much to be wondered about her, except for a regular schedule. Being the face of Capsule Corp, the Briefs girl went to meetings across the globe on a semi-regular basis.

But once a week, every Tuesday, she went with her father to deposit money into the First Bank of West City.

_Don't make it look like a hit._

The doors flew open: cue Bulma Briefs in all of her glory, trailed by the less-than-discreet Goku Kakarot. Everyone in the building knew and loved the two of them, and her arrival was expected. The teller grinned as the heiress sauntered up to him, clad in three inch heels and her favorite pink summer dress; she wore her hair down today with bangs that covered her forehead.

"Hello, Ms. Briefs," he said. She flashed a dazzling smile.

"Hello, Rory. Long time, no see." She winked. He blushed.

"Yeah, well, it's been a while since they've given me a Tuesday shift." He took the check she slipped across the counter to him and started the process of depositing it into the Capsule Corp. account. The door opened and somebody walked in, but he took no notice. Just another patron, probably. "Where's your dad? He's usually with you."

Bulma waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, he got all absorbed in this new project and said he couldn't bear to leave it right now."

"Cool. What's he wor-"

_**BANG**_

Everyone flinched, many screamed. Goku automatically grabbed Bulma and pulled her down and behind him, using himself as a shield. Rory covered his head and slinked away from the counter; he looked left, and found his coworker, Michelle, staring unseeingly up at him, blood oozing down her forehead from a single bullet hole. The figure that had walked in, whom he now realized was wearing a painter's mask, sunglasses, a hat, and a hoodie, stormed to his window and slammed a bag in front him. "Fill it," the person said as he aimed his gun at a dark-haired woman cowering on the floor. "Or she dies."

Rory paled. "I-I can't do that," he stammered.

"Really?"

_**BANG**_

"Because I think you can." The man cocked his gun, aimed it at Bulma. "Cash, please."

He was frozen with fear. He tried to make it look like he was going for the drawer, instead reaching for the panic button. The man's arm swung around towards him.

_**BANG BANG**_

Two consecutive shots whizzed by on either side of the teller's head. "Don't do that." Nodding, Rory gave up and started filling the bag with all the cash he had in his drawer. Goku saw his opportunity to take the distracted robber out, and lunged.

Somehow, he was expecting it, and instead of shouting in surprise when the 5'11'' man hit him, the robber grabbed him, twisting his body as he grabbed Goku's ribcage and threw him to the ground. The armed man spun then, turning on Bulma, who gasped and felt her eyes widen with a horrible realization.

She was going to die.

A single shot rang out, and the heiress squeezed her eyes shut in preparation for the pain that accompanied a bullet, but it never came. Instead, there was a low shout of pain, the sounds of something falling to the floor; Bulma opened her eyes and saw the assailant getting onto his feet from a kneeling position. A red stain was growing on the floor by his feet. He growled, a strange and animal sound, and aimed the gun at her again. There was a second shot, and the man's left side jolted, sending a red spray out of his side and a howl from his throat. Finally, he turned to face his shooter, aiming the gun in the general area of her savior, when the grounded Goku clamped onto his leg, pulled, and sent him sprawling.

The guard's massive fist came hurtling down towards the back of the stranger's head; he rolled, and Goku's knuckles crashed into the granite floor. The man lunged at Goku, catching him in the chest and tackling him to the ground, but the bigger of the two used the momentum to gain the upper hand and pinned his opponent by the throat. When desperate hands couldn't get the vice grip from around his throat, he brought a knee into Goku's groin.

Free from the guard, the robber staggered to his feet, ripped the bag of money from the teller's hands, and left at a dead run from the scene of the crime. The man who had shot the assailant, the one with a black skullcap and a small handgun, chased after him.

_I'm alive,_ Bulma thought in amazement, her heart thudding in her chest. _I'm alive._

* * *

"God_damnit_!"

The large man rolled his eyes but didn't stop his work. He twisted the tweezers slowly, trying to pry the bullet from where it had housed itself, but his hand shook slightly. The smaller man howled again and threw one solid fist at his "doctor's" jaw. The bald man's head snapped to the left before his own right hook slammed into his patient's kidney; he stopped fighting, now too concerned with the pain in his back. While he had a chance, he pulled the tweezers –albeit rougher than he originally would have– and freed the embedded bullet.

Vegeta roared, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth. "When I find that sonofabitch that shot me I'm going to pull his lungs out through his _ass_." Nappa chuckled.

"One thing at a time, I think," he said, examining the hole on the back of Vegeta's right thigh. "You're lucky this didn't hit an artery."

The younger of them sighed and slowly pulled off his black t-shirt, though not without some difficulty, to reveal a second wound beneath his left shoulder blade. "Get this goddamned thing out of me, Nappa, and do it quickly. It hurts." Nappa shook his head but set to work, pushing the broken skin apart and easing the tweezers into the wound; Vegeta tensed, though he stayed quiet. Until, of course, Nappa found his target and tried to pull. Then, he cried out.

"Vegeta, I told you, I have painkillers-"

"_No_, just get the fucking bullet without taking a bone with you, alright?"

"Well, if you would quit bitching and let me _work_-"

"I'm not bitching, _I'm in pain_, and I'm stuck with an old man with tweezers and shaking hands to do the job-"

"I am not old!"

"You're almost sixty, you're old."

Instead of replying, the old man ripped the bullet from Vegeta's ribs. The pain only fueled his anger, and he once again, turned to plant a fist firmly on Nappa's nose, but a massive fist caught the attack. Vegeta scowled at him and opened his mouth to say something when a knock interrupted him. The injured man stood to answer the door, and his massive friend marveled at his ability to ignore pain when necessary and walk without a limp; Vegeta wouldn't show the weakness of a wound if he could avoid it. The younger mercenary glanced through the peephole in his apartment's door, grunted, and undid all six locks. He turned without opening the door, but the guest entered anyways. Nappa nodded to them.

"Ah, I see you have company," Cui said snidely, glancing around Vegeta's place and then at the man himself; he took note of the bleeding wound on his exposed back and thigh and smirked.

"What do you want, Cui?" Vegeta snapped. He grinned.

"Frieza's pissed that you botched the hit."

"I didn't botch anything; some piece of shit shot me twice, in case you didn't notice."

"You failed to kill your target; in Frieza's eyes, you botched it. Now you're on thin ice."

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "What else is new?" Cui scowled.

"You ought to take this more seriously, Vegeta," he said in a low voice. "Frieza won't tolerate another mistake."

"Is that why you're here, Cui?" he asked in mock interest. "You've been promoted from Boot-licker to Messenger; congratulations. Now get the hell out of my apartment before I decide you're trespassing." Cui snarled, then saw the spattering of red on a towel in Nappa's hands, and grinned maliciously.

"Might want to get those looked at, Vegeta," the purple-haired intruder quipped, then turned on his heel and left. Vegeta frowned and locked the door after him.

* * *

It was amazing that, even after an attempt on her life, the heiress could be so care-free. She even went outside unguarded. Lucky for him.

Vegeta watched her through the scope of his rifle; he lay on his stomach on the roof of a two-story building across the street from Capsule Corp. He had a clear view into the backyard of the massive, domed building, and subsequently, of a bikini-clad, sunbathing Bulma Briefs. Fuck Frieza's orders. He'd said _try_, and Vegeta had. Now, he would do it _his_ way.

The wind was blowing diagonally from behind him.

He inhaled, exhaled slowly; his index finger tightened.

And then

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys, so I've started a new series. It'll be another short one, only five chapters, but the updates will be freaking long. This is the shortest one, not even joking/exaggerating. I'd like to have a beta reader for this, just for opinions and whatnot, so if you're interested, just say so in a review.**

**No, I haven't killed How It Should Have Been. I don't have writer's block; my brain is too cluttered with several stories, and I can't focus, so I'm purging my brain and reorganizing it. Hopefully, that'll help.**

**Anyways, this is for the Fairytale Challenge on the Blue and Black Livejournal community. The prompt is the title of the chapter. Please review, I'd really appreciate it. And no. That's not a typo. This chapter is complete.**

**You'll understand when you review. XD**


	2. Sleeping Beauty

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon**** Ball/Z/GT.**

A/N: Okay, seriously excited. Niteryde AND maymayB are reading this? -squeeeeeee- Go read their stuff if you haven't already. It's good stuff. Snapple's jealous.

Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed. Those who didn't... please do? It won't take more than a moment, and I really take everyone's input to heart. Even if it's criticism. Por favor. S'il vous plait. Placet.

Enjoy.

* * *

**The Sleeping Beauty**

The first thing he registered was how heavy his limbs were. The second was the dull ache in his head. The third was a soft breathing that wasn't coming from him.

Vegeta opened his eyes, but everything was still dark. _Must be night_, he thought. He turned his head and groaned as several waves of pain enveloped him.

"Oh, good, you're awake." Something cool and wet was placed on his forehead, and the ache eased. The voice was distinctly female and vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," he lied, closing his eyes again.

"That's good," she replied. He followed the sound of her footsteps as she moved about the room. "You've been out for quite some time."

He licked his lips as he tried to remember where he was and what had happened. "Where am I?"

"Capsule Corp. We found you just outside of the grounds. We thought for sure you were dead, but you held on; you're quite the fighter."

His throat made a clicking sound as he swallowed. Capsule Corp? The hell was he doing at Capsule Corp?

"Wait… Dead? What…?"

"I think you were mugged, because we couldn't find your wallet or any keys and somebody shot you in the back of the head."

Memories rushed back, making his head throb. Yes, the Briefs girl, he'd been on a mission to kill her. She'd been in his sights. He was about to pull the trigger, when-

"I'm Bulma Briefs, by the way. Who are you?"

Without thinking, he replied, "Vegeta," and mentally cursed himself for giving the woman his real name.

"Well, I'm glad I finally have a name to call you, Vegeta." The cloth on his forehead was removed, and running water could be heard moments later. Again, he tried moving, but the motion caused him pain, so he settled with reaching a weak and shaking hand up to the back of his head. A portion of his hair was shorter than the rest, slightly longer than a burr cut. "You're quite lucky we found you. We have some of the best doctors and scientists in the world here, and they fixed you up good-as-new."

_Then why don't I feel _good-as-new_?_ he thought bitterly. "How long have I been unconscious?"

Bulma took a while to respond, and when she did, her voice was soft. "You've… been in a coma for almost five months now."

He gasped, and his eyes shot open. "Fi-five months? How is that possible?" Bulma didn't respond, and instead put the cool rag over his forehead again. He blinked a few times, but his eyes couldn't seem to focus on anything; even in the dark, Vegeta was usually able to make out shapes, but this pitch blackness worried him. "Could you turn on the lights? I can't see a damn thing."

"The doctor said you might have problems seeing; the bullet fractured against your skull, and the pieces ricocheted into your occipital lobe. But it shouldn't be permanent."

_Fucking wonderful_, he thought. _My target saved my life, I'm blind, I've been out for five months, and all of my belongings are missing._

His useless eyes that had unknowingly eased closed now opened again.

"Woman," he called. "Did you find anything with me? A bag?"

"My name is _Bulma_, jerk," she snapped. "And no, we didn't find a bag. But we did find a gun."

"A gun?" His voice was hard. _Oh fuck; if it's my rifle, they'll know._ "What kind of gun?"

Bulma was taken aback by his harsh tone. "A Beretta." Vegeta shook his head. _That's not my gun._ "It was tucked into your waist band."

The mercenary held out his hand, and something heavy was placed in his palm. His fingertips brushed across the pistol, curious about its origin and meaning, all the while ignoring the heavy pit growing in his stomach. He felt the base of the butt of the gun; the serial number had been scratched off. There was an insignia on the side, no doubt baring the mark of a Beretta. He released the clip and set the gun on his chest while he inspected it, and his hands began to quake as his breath caught in his throat.

There was only one bullet in the clip.

* * *

Vegeta swore under his breath for the ump-teenth time that day as his legs buckled beneath him. Soft, cold hands were on his bare torso, pulling and trying to help him up, but he blindly shoved at the person trying to help him. "Get the hell off me," he growled, much to Bulma's chagrin. She frowned, hands on hips, as she watched the strange and angry man once more push himself onto his quaking legs.

"I'm just trying to help you-"

"I don't want your damn help, Woman. Now get out."

"Vegeta, your body isn't strong enough for you to be moving around on your own."

"Then I'll make it strong enough. This is not acceptable."

She admired his tenacity. He straightened, squaring his shoulders before reaching up to adjust the blindfold over his eyes. When his vision had started returning, the mercenary found that colors were a pathetic joke and his depth-perception was nauseating, so he'd opted to remain blind. Besides, he'd reasoned, it would sharpen his other senses, so a sneak attack wouldn't happen again.

Now, if he could just _walk_.

He took a step, and promptly fell to his knees. He swore in a language Bulma didn't know.

"Ah," a new voice chimed, causing Vegeta to whip his head around. "You _are_ awake. I'm quite glad."

"Who the hell are you?" asked the blind mercenary, scowling in his general direction.

"I'm Dr. Briefs, founder and president of Capsule Corp. How're you feeling, my boy?"

Vegeta staggered to his feet, grumbling, "Fan-fucking-tastic."

Dr. Briefs laughed as Bulma glared at the man. What disrespect! "Don't fret, dear," the older man said to his daughter. "I'm not offended. Poor guy's had a rough few months; I'm not surprised he's in a foul mood." Vegeta stayed quiet and eased himself onto his bed. "Anyways, I came to ask about your vision. Bulma says you can't see."

"Not really, no."

"I figured as much."

"How long until I _can_ see?"

"Maybe never." Vegeta's jaw dropped, rage stirring deep in his gut. "You may lose the ability to read and write, or recognize objects or faces, or even seeing entirely. You may even become epileptic. There's no way of knowing until you're healed, I'm afraid."

Vegeta sightlessly stared at the man. He may never see again? As a sniper, a mercenary, a killer, his entire livelihood depended on his vision. What would he do blind? Bulma looked sadly at the man in front of her, whose face unknowingly projected the fear and anger he felt at the news, and Dr. Briefs felt a pang of pity. Vegeta ran a hand slowly through his tangled hair.

"I don't accept that," he said firmly at last, confusing Bulma.

"Accept it?" she repeated. "That doesn't change whether or not you're blind."

"The hell it doesn't!" he cried, standing suddenly –though he did wobble. Both Briefs stepped back. "I will not accept this as my fate. I will find a way to fix this. I will get my vision back; I will get my life back."

"Relax, my boy," Dr. Briefs said calmly, holding his hands palm out. "That's actually the reason I came to see you. I may have a way to repair your vision, but it will take a while. My daughter and I have been working on it since you came to us and we assessed the damage. We have the design, we just have to finish working on it and get it built. It will take about a month. Can you wait that long? And will you be willing to be our test subject?"

Without hesitation, Vegeta nodded. Dr. Briefs grinned and put a hand on the other man's shoulder, pushing him gently back onto the bed he'd been sitting on. "Good. Now you get some rest and recuperate as best you can. I'll get to work on fixing your eyes."

With that, he was gone. Vegeta rested his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, overwhelmed by the situation. A smooth hand touched his back, and he scowled, but he did not fight it.

"Do you have anybody we should contact, Vegeta?" He shook his head. "No one? Not even a girlfriend or a friend or-"

"No," he snapped. "No one."

Bulma sighed, figuring the strange man wanted to be left alone. She told him to relax and she'd check on him later and left the room. Goku was waiting outside for her with Krillin, a short, bald martial artist that often worked security for Capsule Corp. The heiress waved at them.

"Hi Bulma," Krillin smiled. "How's it going?"

"Oh, fine," she sighed, looking over her shoulder at the room she had just left. "He's kind of a grouch. But, no matter. Did my search find anything?"

Goku shook his head. "Nothing. There are no Vegetas in the system. No driver's license, no offenses, no pay stubs, no bank accounts, nothing. It's like the guy doesn't exist."

Bulma's eyebrows pulled down. "Not even a birth certificate?"

"Not in West City; your dad expanded the search to any neighboring cities, but we can't find anything so far."

_Well that's weird_, she thought as she left the infirmary, men in tow.

* * *

"C'mon, Vegeta, you can do it."

He growled. How he was beginning to hate that voice.

"Good. Excellent. One more rep."

He was going to beat her to death if she was insinuating he was through.

"Excellent! Good job for today, Vegeta. You've made some really good progress this past week, and I think it'll do you well to take tomorrow off and rest-"

"The hell are you babbling on about?"

She turned. In her week working with him, Jenna hadn't really heard the man speak. Mostly just profanities.

"You've been doing intense physical therapy for about five hours, now. It's time to rest."

He barked out a laugh that contained no humor. "Like hell it is!" His thin and shaking arms lifted the medicine ball in his hands, and he growled when he found himself struggling. _Weakling!_

"Vegeta!" The trainer raced over and tried to rip the ball from his hands. "You can't push yourself like this, you could cause irreparable damage." She found that, somehow, this near-crippled man could already overpower her and held fast to the equipment. She could feel his glare through his blindfold, and wondered if it was true that he was, in fact, blind. "Vegeta, please let go."

"Woman," he said with a mocking tone. "Please get out."

Jenna blinked at him. At her hesitation, Vegeta's agitation doubled, and he stood to his full height. He didn't tower over her, but he didn't need to; years of cold violence and bloodshed _tended_ to create an intimidating being. Jenna stepped back.

"I have grown tired of your incessant voice, like an irritating insect I've been too lazy to swat." He took a step forward, she stepped backwards. "I am stronger than you now and beyond the need for your training. If I see you again, I will make you leave by force."

"It's o-only been a week, Vegeta," Jenna pleaded. "You may be stronger than me, but you don't have complete control of your motor functions yet, and if you don't train right-"

"It will be my own damn fault," he interrupted smoothly. "However, I have been training and pushing my body longer than I care to admit, and I know proper techniques and forms and kata, and now you are only a nuisance. If I have to tell you to leave again today, _you will do so through a window_. Do I make myself clear?"

Jenna turned and fled, tears streaming down her cheeks. Vegeta smirked triumphantly and returned to the mat where he had earlier been doing stretches by her coaching, where he fell down to do push-ups. What she hadn't known was that the man spent almost all of his free time in the gym the Briefs had made available to him. His progress was simply the added ten hours of regimented training he put himself through. It was nigh on torture, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He had catching up to do.

_Hisss ch-click. Hisss ch-click._

Someone had come to pay him a visit.

_Ca-tick ca-tick ca-tick ca-tick_

"Woman," he greeted, not stopping his exercise.

"Vegeta," she replied, coming to stand beside him and tapping her toe impatiently. He ground his teeth.

"What do you want?"

"Why did you just scare that poor girl to death?"

He smirked; he'd figured that was the reason for her visit. "I did no such thing."

"You told her you'd throw her from a window!"

"Her services were no longer needed, and she refused to leave after I told her so. She was getting in my way, and I simply informed her of that fact."

Bulma sighed exasperatedly. "She's a physical trainer, Vegeta, she has your best interest at heart." _Doubtful,_ he thought in reply, though said nothing of the sort.

"Have you come to inform me that your father has made good progress and I will have my vision restored soon?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then get out. I have more important matters to deal with than your incessant bitching."

He smirked as he felt the air around him shift. She was flailing, or something of the sort. "_Incessant bitching_?" she cried, and he fought down a laugh. "Have you forgotten that _I'm_ the one that brought you in here out of-"

"Sheer curiosity?" he interjected.

"_The goodness of my heart._"

Vegeta snickered. "Had me fooled." Something nudged his shoulder, trying to knock him off balance; he was already sweating, and made staying upright difficult, but he did it regardless.

"You are such a _jerk_, Vegeta!"

With the victory of the last word, Bulma stormed off to find her father. Vegeta collapsed on the mat, breathing hard and fighting not to lose his temper. _Weakling_.

* * *

"_Hello?_"

"Hey Krillin. It's Bulma. Anything?"

"_Nuh-uh. Not a thing._"

She sighed. "Alright. Maybe it's just an alias. Shut it down."

"_The whole search? You think that's a good idea?_"

"No, but it doesn't seem like we have a choice."

"_Well, alright. I'll tell the others._"

She watched with a mix of awe and scorn. His body was littered with scars. He was blind, awake only a matter of days, but that willpower burned like gasoline, and when the weak had fallen from self-doubt and self-preservation, there stood Vegeta, alone, battered, rude, distant.

Tough as nails and twice as hardy, as her uncle used to say.

* * *

It had been forty-six days since he'd woken up, a remarkably short time for recovery, and yet Vegeta felt he was lagging. He continued to wear a bandana over his eyes. He made the mistake once to try to navigate at night with his eyes open and had almost broken his nose on a wall. He was determined to use this incapability to his advantage, and he did. Learning to maneuver a room, to memorize it's layouts in complete darkness was a challenge that the mercenary rose to meet. By the end of the month, he could get around almost without touching the walls for guidance.

Vegeta was doing crunches while hanging upside down when he heard the _hisss, ch-click_ of the door opening. The footsteps were nearly flatfooted and slow, and the vague scent of tobacco tinged his nostrils. "Doc," he greeted monotonously and continued his routine.

"Hello, Vegeta," Dr. Briefs said warmly. "How goes the training?"

"Slow," he growled in reply. The scientist assumed he would continue, but he didn't, instead hanging upside down and focusing on pulling his torso up again and again. Finally, he stilled, grabbed the bar with his hands, and dropped lithely to the ground. Dr. Briefs marveled at his grace. Vegeta seemed to look over his shoulder and scowled heavily. "What do you want?" he barked.

"Oh, yes, right," the elder stammered. "I have a prototype worked out that should correct the damage, but I can't really be sure, and I won't be if I can't test the darn thing out. So what do you say?"

Vegeta clenched his jaw, thinking about the possibility of things going wrong and him ending up worse than before. After a moment, he shrugged. "Fine," he said as he strolled off, expecting the old man to follow him. He did. "When?"

"I was thinking tonight, at about nine o'clock, if that's alright."

"Why so late?"

"Because it's going to take a while."

* * *

Goku and Chi-Chi were sitting in the living room, waiting for their blue-haired hostess to return with Krillin. There was an almost awkward silence between them; they would flirt but neither would relent to admitting an interest. It was a social ineptitude that made Bulma cringe, something she did when she emerged from the hallway and was greeted by the tense atmosphere. Chi-Chi looked relieved.

"Hey, Chi," she greeted with a warm smile. "Long time, no see. What have you been up to?"

The dark-haired princess frowned at her friend. "Not taking random corpses into my home, that's for sure."

Bulma blinked at her. "Are you talking about Vegeta?"

"Oh, so he has a _name_ now, does he?"

"Yeah, he woke up."

"Then why is he still here? I thought Goku meant he was still unconscious!"

"He's blind and couldn't really move after five months of lying down, so we took him in and tried to help him get better."

"Bulma, why would you do a thing like that? He could be a spy, trying to get inside to steal Capsule Corps' secrets! Or he could be trying to kill you or your dad!"

"Chi, really, I don't think a spy would allow himself to be shot in the head and blinded just to get my dad's secrets."

"I'm just worried about the kind of people you may be taking into your home."

"And what kind of person do you think I am, exactly?"

The women stilled and Goku tensed. Leaning against the wall just inside the hallway stood a short man with broad shoulders and dark hair that swooped up into a flame. He wore black sweats, a white tank top, and an indifferent scowl; his stare was clear and hard. Bulma couldn't decide if he was intimidating or damn good-looking. She settled on a little scary.

"And who are _you_?" spat Chi-Chi, turning to glare back at him. He smirked.

"Someone you shouldn't be harassing," he chided, before turning his gaze to Bulma. Yes, that was her, Bulma Briefs, the one and only.

"Vegeta," Bulma gaped. "You can see? It worked?"

He gave a quick nod. He didn't have to mention that colors were still a little grey. Mostly, he could see. Distances were much more easily established; the hallucinations had mostly stopped. He expected the symptoms would fade with time. Bulma smiled and jumped up and down. "Oh, Vegeta, that's fantastic! I'm so happy that it worked!"

"I am grateful for what you and your father have done for me, but now that I can see and move around without aid, I have things to attend to. I need a transport."

It took Bulma a moment to gather her wits and understand what he was saying. "What? You want to leave _now_? But, Vegeta, so much of the testing process is the aftermath of such a procedure. Now is when we need you the most."

"I have been torn from my life for six months. I need to sort a few things out."

"Will you come back?" When he didn't reply, only gazed at her with that leveling stare of his, she relented. "Okay, fine. Go get one of our drivers and he'll take you wherever you need to go."

Vegeta scowled, gave a curt nod, and left.

* * *

Apartment. No, not a good plan, they'd expect that. His car was probably towed. If he pulled from one of his bank accounts they'd see the activity and know he's alive. That left one account with dismal funds in a fraudulent name and ownership of a storage garage he'd received in a Will. The driver protested at the distance, but caught the flash of a gun and thought better of complaining. A light rain was coming on, hardly more than mist, and Vegeta watched with mild disinterest the change of weather outside.

At the storage locker, the mercenary told the driver to leave; he would get back to Capsule Corp. on his own. The man didn't have to be told twice and sped off, glad to be rid of such an intimidating fellow. At Gate 27B, one of the narrow garages, Vegeta picked the lock and slid the gate up quickly. There was a box of clothes that would be a little big, a few firearms that had never been used, and a motorcycle. He honestly hated the things, and Frieza and his men would know that. They weren't likely to see him riding one, so he figured it'd be nice and discreet. He grinned.

"Thank you, Raditz."

* * *

The motorcycle came to a skidding halt in front of a rundown building in the heart of the slums; Vegeta was off and running before the engine had completely shut off. He kept the helmet over his head to mask himself, and his jeans and leather jacket made him seem inconspicuous enough. He was just another biker, some punk with a death wish. His fist pounded three times on the peeling green door, sending flakes falling, but there was no answer. He did it twice more, finally getting the response of a gun being cocked on the other side.

"Goddamnit, Nappa," he snarled. "Open this fucking door!"

Six locks later the battered door swung open, revealing a large bald man pointing a shotgun at the visitor's head. His mustache had a few grey hairs and crow's feet bedecked his eyes; these were the only things revealing the almost thirty years he had on Vegeta. His big eyes glared at the man in front of him, and only when Vegeta flipped up the visor did Nappa lower his weapon.

"Vegeta," he gasped. "I… I thought you were dead."

"I will be if you don't let me in _right now_," he hissed through clenched teeth. Nappa nodded and stepped aside, allowing the younger man in. When the door was shut and locked once more, he ripped off his helmet and unzipped his jacket, inspecting his surroundings as he did so. Meager furnishings and trash everywhere, exactly as he had expected. Nappa had never really been one for cleanliness.

"I heard you'd gone off the map," the bald man noted as he leaned his shotgun against the arm of his navy blue couch, which had stuffing popping out in several places. He motioned for Vegeta to sit, but the assassin refused and took to pacing instead. "I figured you'd been made and I'd never see you again."

"I need your help," Vegeta said without looking at him. "It's the Briefs girl. I was about to pull the trigger, and next thing I know, I'm waking up in a Capsule Corp. infirmary, _blind_, and my target saying she found me with a bullet in my head. My pack is missing, my gun is missing, my wallet is missing, and this was in their place." From the inside of his jacket, he pulled out the Beretta and handed it to Nappa, who took it silently. After a moment of studying it, he ejected the clip and swallowed heavily at the lone bullet waiting patiently for its turn. The large man set the gun on the coffee table in front of him, among the empty Doritos bags and cans of beer that littered the table top.

"You've been Cut," Nappa said simply, staring at the gun as if it were a strange animal that may bite. "That bullet's meant for your skull, my friend, should you survive your execution."

"I _know _that, but what does that mean?"

"Means you either know something that could be dangerous, you've been made, or you're not useful anymore."

"None of those make any sense, though!" He waved his hands in frustration as he paced, growing more loud and violent as he ranted. "I've been cautious, I'm still at the top of my game, and I don't fucking know _anything_! I'm a fucking _hired hit man_, Nappa. What the hell could I possibly know? I just pull the trigger; it's not like I run the goddamned business or interact with anyone but Frieza and a few of his cronies. I don't understand!"

"Vegeta," Nappa said sternly. He stood, walked around his table, and placed his hands firmly on the younger man's shoulders on his next pass. Finally, Vegeta looked up. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is you are in some hot fucking water right now, and you are on the hit list of every hand under Frieza. Hell, guy owns half the goddamn city, I'm surprised you've made it this far."

"What do I do?" There was no fear in his eyes, but an absolute rage. Serving the majority of his life under Frieza as a hired killer, and now _he_ was being hunted like some frightened animal.

"Where have you been?"

"Capsule Corp."

"Then go back." Vegeta gaped at his ex-partner, his former teacher, the man he had once trusted his life with. Go back? "Feed the Briefs girl some bullshit excuse to allow you to stay there for a while. Lay low. Avoid windows and don't go outside unless absolutely necessary, and don't do so unless you're well-disguised. Blend in, Vegeta, keep your head down, and stay on her good side. You're safe there."

"The fuck makes you think that?"

"She was your target, right? Why would you stay with the person you were trying to kill? Anyways, they're rich philanthropists, they'll jump at the chance to take care of a poor little shmuck that got mugged and shot Execution Style. You get me?"

"Yeah, yeah," he snapped, turning his head to look away so Nappa wouldn't see the frustration and dejection in his eyes. He'd been hoping to stay with him.

"Don't go back to your apartment; they'll be waiting for that."

"I know."

"And you already got some stuff out of storage? What name was it under?"

"Turk Walkes." Nappa raised an eyebrow, but he shrugged.

"Good, now get your ass back to West City and fucking stay there. Play dead. They know you're _not_ dead, they'll have checked the morgues, but if they think you're laid up comatose somewhere, maybe they'll back off after a while."

"How long do you think?" Nappa looked away and mumbled something incoherently. Vegeta advanced threateningly. "I'm sorry? I didn't catch that, Nappa."

"A few years. Maybe five or six. But Vegeta," The old killer looked up and then quickly back down at the look on his student's face. "You'll never truly be free as long as Frieza is alive."

Vegeta ran a hand over his face, sighed deeply, and held out a hand to his former instructor. Nappa took it and smiled apologetically at the young man before handing him the Beretta. The mercenary tucked the gun into the holster under his jacket, zipped it up, and pulled the helmet over his head once more. Nappa walked him to the door, but before he could leave, a hand was on his shoulder.

"Be a model citizen, okay? Frieza owns half of this coast, if the cops pull you over, they're just as likely to shoot you as Zarbon. Don't give them any reason to suspect you, Vegeta. None."

The door opened and he was gone, and then the motorcycle disappeared back down the road, leaving a cloud of dust and a fading roar in its place. As he wove his way through traffic, one thing Nappa said replayed itself over and over in Vegeta's mind:

_You'll never truly be free as long as Frieza is alive._

"Well," he said, grinning behind his helmet. "I'll just have to rectify that."

* * *

A/N: REVIEW OR THEY'LL FIND VEGETA!


	3. The Mistaken Identity

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

A/N: This one was beta'd by Cara2012, and I am very grateful. :) I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**The Mistaken Identity**

Bulma didn't understand why he wouldn't take off his helmet until he was inside. She asked if he was hiding from somebody. He never answered. She assumed he was just weird about it.

"I didn't think you'd be coming back," she quipped as she led him into the living room.

"I didn't think I'd need to," Vegeta replied as his eyes darted around, taking in every detail of his surroundings. He leaned against a wall that allowed him to see the doorways and positioned him out of sight of the windows. Bulma raised an eyebrow as Krillin came bounding down the stairs.

"Bulma," he called in a sing-song voice. "Goku told me that creep Vegeta was gone, and I was wondering if…" Krillin trailed off as his eyes landed on a dark and scowling man hiding between the windows, and he stopped dead. The man narrowed his eyes. Bulma cleared her throat.

"Krillin," she started, her voice betraying a laugh. "This is Vegeta. Vegeta, this is Krillin, one of my guards."

"Uh, hi," Krillin stammered awkwardly. Vegeta's eye twitched.

"Don't let me interrupt you," he said snidely. "Please, continue what you were asking."

The bald man swallowed. "I, uh, was wondering if that meant the experiment went well."

"Hn. Sure you were."

"Why, uh, if you don't mind me asking, why did you come back?"

Bulma turned to the guest. "Actually, I was wondering that myself."

Vegeta frowned; he had to say this right so they wouldn't suspect, but his pride was catching the words in his throat. _It's fine_, he thought to himself. _It's only temporary._ "I thought about what you said, and decided to reconsider." Bulma cocked her head to the side. Vegeta swore internally. "You need my eyes; I need a place to stay."

"What?" the small guard asked, finally stepping into the room. He glared back.

"Being more or less dead for six months doesn't pay the rent, Baldy."

Bulma bit her lip. "You got a deal, Vegeta." His black eyes darted to her, and he replied with a quick nod. "Come on, I'll show you to your room."

Despite the glare and quiet snarl he issued in passing, Krillin followed the flame-haired man. Vegeta glared at him out of the corner of his eye, then smirked. "Tell me," the mercenary suddenly quipped. "Do you shave your hair to further humiliate yourself, or are you just naturally that ugly?"

The small man frowned when he heard Bulma stifle a laugh, though he didn't get a chance to reply. "Krillin used to be a monk," she called back over her shoulder. Vegeta shifted his gaze to her.

"Did you leave when you realized how boring it was?" he deadpanned. Krillin growled as threateningly as he could.

"I left because I didn't feel like I was following my path."

"And 'beating people up' is your path?"

"Vegeta."

Bulma was standing with her hands on her hips and motherly scorn stretched across her face. A quick glance backwards told him the monk was in a fighting stance with hate in his eyes, challenge evident. Vegeta snorted and entered the room that would be his. Single bed. Small closet. Dresser, bedside table, chair in the corner, adjacent bathroom. It was little more than a hotel room. He shrugged and set his helmet on the desk. Bulma watched him a moment, then frowned.

"I have to go talk to Dad, then we'll call you up to examine your eyes."

He gave her a humorless grin. "I assure you, my eyes are fine."

She looked at him incredulously. "Really, Vegeta? Because you're squinting."

"No, I'm _scowling_."

"No, you're _squinting_." She frowned. "You never wore glasses, right? No contacts?" He made a point not to squint when he looked at her.

"Nothing of the sort."

Bulma nodded, and offered him a dazzling smile before she turned to leave. "Make yourself at home. Dinner's at seven if you feel like joining us." She left with a wink as she tossed her hair over her shoulder.

* * *

At ten after seven, dinner was well underway. That is, until crashing and shouting caught the attention of the guards seated at the table. Goku and Krillin froze, forks halfway to their mouths, before they were dashing out the door. Bulma watched in shock and confusion, though she wasn't left to wonder long. Goku was the first back, eyes closed and lips pursed in repressed laughter as he shook his head from side to side. Krillin was next, head tossed back and eyes clenched shut as he held his ribs. Finally, the source of the racket entered and left the family open-mouthed and giggling.

Being held by his ear, a dark-haired, pale, lanky, teenaged boy squirmed and howled as he tried to escape his captor, a very unamused Vegeta. The guest scowled at the boy, his upper lip curling up in disgust as he tried to get away from that unbreakable grip.

"Vegeta," Bulma said between giggles. "Why-"

"The brat attacked me," he said simply, shoving the boy forward.

"I did not!" the boy cried, straightening up indignantly and rubbing his ear. "I caught him sneaking around the garden, and I went up to ask him what he was doing, and he attacked me!"

"I was minding my own business, and you tried to tackle me."

"Don't try to lie, you were sneaking."

Vegeta's eye twitched and he took a threatening step towards the boy, who took an automatic step back. "You know, brat, I am getting _very_ tired of people telling me what I am and am not doing."

"Vegeta," Bulma interjected quickly, stepping in between them. "His name is Gohan, and he was just doing his job."

"Hn," Vegeta replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "You must have low standards if you're hiring children."

Gohan bared his teeth. "I am not a child, I'm sixteen years old."

"_Guys,_" Bulma pressed on, her brow furrowed. "This is Vegeta, and he's going to be staying her for a while. He can sneak around the garden all he wants." The man in question smirked at the boy, who just glared back. "Let's get you acquainted. You know Krillin and Dad. That's Mom."

A blonde with very squinty eyes beamed at him and offered her hand. He reluctantly accepted it. "Oh, my," she said, putting a hand over her mouth. "You didn't tell me he was so handsome, Bulma." He grumbled under his breath, but tried to keep his composure as he turned to a man with scars on his face and a ponytail that looked deserving of a lawn-mower. "This is my boyfriend, Yamcha Goto." Vegeta shook his hand a little harder than was probably necessary, and smirked at the wince he received. "And this is Goku Kakarot." The large, dark haired man offered a child's grin and a small wave, and Vegeta was sure he could feel the stupid rubbing off already. He turned his gaze back to Gohan.

"The next time you attack me, I will not be so kind," he threatened.

Yamcha stood. "I think you should leave."

"And I think I should rearrange your face, it might do some good."

"Are you looking for a fight, Vegeta?"

Bulma closed her eyes; this battle of testosterone was beginning to get out of hand.

"Sure. I'm always up to deliver a good beating."

"In your dreams, little man."

"Says the wimp with more hair than muscle."

"Enough!" Bulma stood, fuming mad, between the arguing men. Yamcha caught her expression and immediately sat back in his chair, muttering some apology under his breath. Vegeta raised an amused eyebrow expectantly. "No fighting."

"Actually," said Goku, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Bulma glared at him. "Well, Krillin and I were planning on sparring later on. Would you two like to join us?"

"No," said Vegeta.

"Yes," said Yamcha.

"No," said Bulma. The couple glared at each other, but soon the heiress threw her arms over her head before plopping back into her seat. "Fine! Fight if you want, but after dinner. Vegeta, are you going to join us or not?"

He shook his head. "I wasn't planning on it until the brat intruded." He gave a distasteful look to Yamcha and Gohan. "Enjoy your meal." He turned on his heel, and was gone. Bulma heaved a sigh of relief. Dinner was had in silence, for a while.

"Babe," Yamcha started, setting his fork down. _Here we go,_ thought Bulma. "I don't like that Vegeta guy. I don't think you should let him stay here."

"Yamcha, he's got nowhere else to go. He was in a coma for five months, what do you expect? Besides, we need him for testing." He snorted.

"He's just using you, Bulma, and you're letting him!" His fist slammed into the table, causing the Briefs to jump. "I say you throw his ass out onto the street. He can fend for himself. He's a grown man-"

"Who was shot in the back of the head, Yamcha!" At her intense gaze, he seemed to wither, but she was only getting started. "He was blind and could barely move when he woke up. He couldn't even walk! Besides, I _asked_ him if he would stay because we need his brain for research."

"You asked him to come back? Why would you do that?"

"Are you jealous?"

"No, I'm pissed."

"Why, because I won't listen to your every command like the rest of your floozies?" Everybody froze; the three guards hated when these two argued, especially when Bulma started accusing Yamcha of cheating. He ground his teeth but cast his eyes to the table cloth, still for a moment, before violently throwing his napkin on the table.

"When you want to talk rationally, come find me."

He thought beating up on a punching bag while the guards finished dinner would be a good stress release and a nice warm-up before the spars began. He groaned when the door opened. Vegeta was already there, in a corner with the punching bag, pounding it mercilessly. Dark eyes glanced his way and narrowed.

"Eager, aren't we?" came the gravelly taunt, and Yamcha grit his teeth. The house guest stopped his abuse on the bag and turned so he was facing him fully. Something seemed to amuse him. "Well, you look just livid. What's got you all riled up, weakling?"

Yamcha growled. "Fuck off, Vegeta. I didn't come here for you, I came to blow off some steam."

Vegeta's smirk deepened. "Well, I'm here. You were the one wanting to fight earlier, so come on. Let's fight."

He knew it was a terrible idea. He hadn't sparred in weeks, probably more. He was a baseball player; he'd gotten out of the martial arts scene years ago after his shameful loss at the Worlds Martial Arts Tournament. But he wasn't going to tell _him_ that. Yamcha smiled.

"Sure, just give me a minute."

Vegeta stood on the mat obviously set up for fighting (he could see the stains of sweat and blood and felt a shiver of recognition), arms crossed over his chest, waiting patiently. For an instant, he wondered if this was, possibly, a bad idea; functional as he may be, his strength was still minute compared to its former glory. Oh well. The challenge was made and quickly accepted, unless the fool backed out before then.

By the time Yamcha emerged from the back room he'd used to change in, Gohan, Krillin, and Goku were standing off to the side, all wearing orange gi's similar to his own. Only Vegeta stood apart, wearing dark blue training shorts and a grey muscle shirt; his shoes were abandoned on the other side of the mat. Yamcha swallowed but approached nonetheless, full of false confidence.

"You know," he started. "I was thinking about something. You just woke up from a coma not too long ago, right?" The scowl on his opponent's face did not falter, deepen, or show any change. It was unsettling. "Well, I don't know that I want to fight you now. I don't want to beat up on a crippled person." Yamcha didn't see the horrified expressions of his friends, because he'd closed his eyes in his bravado, but he did hear the low, menacing growl that emanated from across the mat. Vegeta was growling, and it was a much more intimidating sound than Yamcha could have ever managed.

Before he could react, both of his feet had been knocked out from under him, and he was falling. Mid-shout, something solid and rough grabbed the scruff of his neck and kept him from hitting the ground. Soon, though, he was rushing forward, and Yamcha opened his eyes in time to see an elbow in his face's path. It collided with his mouth with a solid impact, busting his lip and making him see stars. Yamcha dropped to the ground, dazed.

"_Cripple enough for you_?" Vegeta snarled, an awful, quiet sound, an uncontrolled fury masked by a startling calm.

"Yamcha!" Both men looked up to see Bulma staring wide-eyed at her boyfriend, held back easily by the towering Goku.

"Get up and fight, weakling," Vegeta snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. The corner of his mouth twitched. Yamcha got to his unsteady feet and fell into a low stance. Vegeta didn't move.

Yamcha lunged, aiming a right hook at his opponent's face, but when he swung, his target side-stepped and brought his left knee into his attacker's solar plexus. Winded, Yamcha slowed, and Vegeta took the opportunity to bring a solid elbow down onto his back, sending him to the floor. He coughed a moment, but rolled when he heard Vegeta moving, and his massive fist collided with the floor instead of Yamcha's skull. He swore, shaking his hand and looking for the orange-clad fighter; a foot slammed into the side of his head and sent him skidding. With a roar and a glare that could kill, the mercenary was on his feet, crouch and analyzing Yamcha for what he would do next.

Bulma looked up at Goku, who looked enthralled. "Why do you look so happy?" she whined. He grinned without looking away.

"This is really cool. Vegeta's good, he's giving Yamcha a run for his money."

"Who do you think will win?"

Even as Yamcha brought a strong fist into his opponent's jaw, Goku replied, "Vegeta."

"What? But he's-"

His body was turned with the momentum from Yamcha's hit, but his right leg struck out, catching the baseball player in the chest and launching him backwards. He landed on his back, outside of the mat, coughing and wheezing. Bulma's eyes widened and she ran over to inspect the damage. Vegeta wiped a bit of blood from his lip with the back of his hand; he raised an eyebrow at the red smear, and smirked at the hacking man on the ground.

"What was that you said about beating up on a 'crippled person'?" Bulma glanced at Vegeta, then at the red-faced Yamcha and frowned.

"Did you call him crippled?" He shied away and wouldn't look her in the eye. "Yamcha, that's horrible! In that case, I think you got what you deserved." The smug and triumphant look on Vegeta's face was the final, crushing blow to his ego, and he nodded wearily. Shaking her head, Bulma helped the man to his feet and sent him off to the infirmary to be bandaged up.

"That was pretty impressive, Vegeta," Goku said, receiving a dark look from the man. He went on as if he didn't notice. "You're fast, especially for a guy laid up for five months. I thought you could barely move when you woke up?" He smirked.

"You did this in, in a month?" Krillin stammered, wide-eyed. Gohan blinked at the mercenary.

"Well," the boy started. "Yamcha doesn't keep up on his skills like he should. It's impressive how easily he was beaten, especially since Vegeta shouldn't be in any shape to fight right now, but I don't know what that means for his skills."

"Then perhaps _you_ should fight me, boy," Vegeta growled, his face serious. "Or maybe Baldy."

"Actually," Goku started, taking a step forward. "I'd like to spar you, Vegeta. Full contact." The mercenary's lip twitched upward, and he shrugged. Goku smiled like it was Christmas Morning and quickly padded onto the mat. "Krillin, I want you to ref, okay? I don't want either of us getting _too_ hurt; I have to work tomorrow, after all."

"Tch, as if you could hurt me, _clown_."

Goku smiled, fell into his low fighting stance. Vegeta turned and did the same.

"Ready?" Krillin asked. Both men nodded. He nodded. "Fight."

Vegeta struck first, a right hand punch blocked by Goku's left forearm. Goku twisted his arm, used the back of his hand to strike his opponent's cheek bone. Vegeta dodged, grabbed the stray hand, and pulled, throwing the fighter off balance; he took advantage by swiping Goku's leg out from under him, and he fell. At the last second, Goku caught himself with his other hand, used Vegeta's weight to his benefit, and planted both feet flat against his opponent's chest. Vegeta fell backwards, slamming onto his back, but he tucked his legs up, rolling until he was on his knees and toes, jumping back onto his feet with his fists at the ready. Goku wasn't giving him any time to recuperate, and he lunged, catching Vegeta off guard with a hard upper-cut to his jaw and two more strikes to his stomach. Regaining his wits, he reacted in time to catch the next fist that was coming towards his face, as well as the next that would have made him see stars. The two men stared each other down while they struggled for the upper hand.

Goku grinned. "You're pretty tough."

"Hn," he smirked. "Shut up, Kakarot. I'm not even getting started yet."

As if to prove his point, the resistance against Goku's left fist disappeared, and he moved forward; Vegeta twisted his body to miss the attack and immediately retaliated with a clenched fist of his own crashing down on Goku's left eye. An elbow caught his jaw. Vegeta's hands gripped Goku's wild hair and slammed in face against his knee. The scarred arms wrapped tightly around the guard's neck, catching him in a painful head-lock. Goku sputtered and struggled for a moment, but only a moment, as he leaned back into his captor, then threw his entire weight forward, grabbing Vegeta's shoulders to aid in throwing him. Surprised, the smaller man landed flat on his back, coughing as the air rushed out of his lungs from the impact. As quickly as he could, he got back to his feet, but was knocked back down by a well-timed kick to his chest, similar to the one he delivered Yamcha. Goku lunged, fist drawn back; Vegeta pulled his legs up to his chest, planted his hands flat on the ground on either side of his head, and pushed as hard as he could, executing a perfect kip-up. His feet caught Goku's shoulders, and the fighter fell backwards as Vegeta landed on his feet. Coughing at the unexpected impact, Goku opened his eyes to see his opponent advancing, arm cocked back, a battle-cry tearing from his throat.

Something caught Vegeta's arm just inches from Goku's face and he froze, preparing to attack the newest threat. It was Krillin, a serious look in his eyes.

"That's enough, Vegeta."

He blinked, took a deep breath, and tore his arm away from the ex-monk as he stood. Goku grinned up at him, his left eye already swelling shut. Vegeta could feel an awful pain in his jaw, and wondered if it might have been fractured. He turned, wanting to return to his room to inspect the damage. He was weaker than he thought he was. _That fight should not have been so difficult._ Goku was already on his feet, grinning like a fool.

"Man," he laughed, rubbing his face. "That was brutal. I can't imagine what you were like before you got hurt." Vegeta fought down a smirk as he remembered the last time they'd brawled, but left without a word.

* * *

He stood naked in front of the mirror, twisting this way and that as he inspected the numerous bruises on his body. His right hand was swollen and stiff, as was his jaw; there was a bruise forming on the left side where Kakarot had punched him. He was battling an awful headache. His chest ached and his abs trembled when he tightened them. His shoulders protested when he lifted his arms over his head.

Vegeta sighed in frustration. _Weakling._

There was a knock on the door and a short creak as it opened. "Vegeta?" He rolled his eyes. It was the woman. "Can I come in?"

He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom. "No. Get out."

She had her back to him, and was setting a box on his desk. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I just wanted to bring you this in case you had any-" When she turned and caught sight of him, she froze, eyes widening until he was sure they would pop out of his head. She cleared her throat as her face flushed red. "In case you had any injuries."

He raised an eyebrow in amusement, but said nothing. Bulma found something else to look at as he moved across his room towards his dresser. They waited in uncomfortable silence, he for her to leave, her for him to offer some sort of gratitude. When neither occurred, Bulma asked something that had been bothering her for more than an hour now.

"Where did you learn how to fight like that, Vegeta?"

He scowled. "I used to be a cage-fighter."

Bulma blinked and looked up at him, thankfully finding him clad in loose black pants and pulling a white muscle shirt on. "Like, MMA?" He scoffed.

"Not exactly." The blank look he received made his scowl deepen. "Our matches weren't exactly legal."

The heiress gaped. "You fought in the underground?" Vegeta offered a quick nod. "Did you go by Vegeta?" He shook his head.

"You do not offer your real name with that crowd of people, especially in the line of job I had. They could and would hunt you down if a fight didn't go the way they wanted."

"Is that why you were attacked?" He shrugged. "What _was_ your name?"

He frowned. "Ouji." She nodded absently, her mind elsewhere. "Weren't you _leaving_?" Bulma jumped at the harsh tone, then planted her hands firmly on her hips. Vegeta repressed a smirk. _So _that's_ what she does when we argue._

"Excuse me? In case you've forgotten, _I live here_. I don't have to go anywhere if I don't want to."

"Unless you would like to be forcibly removed, I suggest you leave."

"What're you gonna do, tough guy?"

"Drag you by your pretty blue hair into the hallway and lock the door behind you."

Bulma's expression changed suddenly, and he stepped back in confusion. "You think my hair's pretty?" He blinked a moment, tried to backpedal, but couldn't get out anything intelligent. Her face broke out into a radiant smile. "Aw, that's sweet of you to say, Vegeta! Thanks!" She gave him a wink and flounced out, leaving him staring after her.

"The female species," he muttered. "Such an enigma."

He was inspecting the first aid kit she'd left when he heard a soft voice on the other side of his door. _I thought the bitch left!_ He pressed his ear to the door, and found he could hear Bulma if he strained his ears. She seemed to be a short distance away, speaking softly to an unknown person; Vegeta assumed she was on the phone.

"Yeah, that's him. What do you know?" There was silence for a while, and Vegeta scowled, wondering if she'd wandered off. "Vicious is a good word for it. No no, Yamcha didn't get hurt too badly. Cracked rib, loose tooth. No, Goku's fine, too, just a little battered, but he said it was a tough fight." More quiet, and Vegeta's stomach knotted up in apprehension. "No, he was in a coma… A month ago. Yeah, I know, that's what Goku said." There was a soft padding noise. "Thanks, Tien. Good luck on your next fight."

"What'd he say?" It was Kakarot, and Vegeta's lip curled up.

Bulma was quiet. "Tien's heard of him. Small guy with black hair and a lot of scars that went by Ouji. He always came in with a big bald guy and a lot of money. He never lost, and went missing a couple months ago."

Softer, she said, "He beat a man to death once." Vegeta winced; he'd hoped she wouldn't hear that part.

"So, what do you want to do?" Goku asked. There was no response. "Do you want me to make him leave?"

"No. We need him." A pause. "What do _you_ think, Goku?"

"Well," he started, sounding thoughtful. "I like him. He could've really hurt Yamcha if he wanted to, but he didn't. I almost had him a couple times, but he's quick and smart and turned the fight in his favor. I think he could be really beneficial to have around." There was another silence, and then Bulma's voice, though it was too soft to be understood. "No. Chi-Chi's paranoid, don't think about what she said."

"Goku, he's _killed_ somebody!"

"Stuff like that happens in the underground, Bulma. There really aren't any rules to those fights. You've seen how badly Tien gets beat up; sometimes it just goes too far. Heck, people have died at the Worlds Martial Arts Tournament before. That doesn't mean he's a bad person."

_I've heard enough_. Vegeta turned away from his door and the conversation to look at the box Bulma had left behind. He idly wondered how horrified the woman would be if she knew his real body count and ignored the strange knot that appeared in his stomach.

* * *

A/N: 'Goto' is the inaccurate way to write 'gōtō,' which means 'bandit' in Japanese. Lame, yeah, don't care.

Anyway, please review! It only takes a second, and it helps me get an idea of what you guys want to see or like to see. It's for your benefit, really. So you should do it.


	4. Wicked Witch

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

A/N: This was beta'd by Cara2012, and is the first chapter whose prompt is not from the fairytale challenge. However, you'll notice that I'm continuing the fairytale theme. It's fun. Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

**Wicked Witch**

The garden was dark, and Bulma was glad she'd already set up everything she would need. Her mother kept the place in a state that would make Better Homes and Gardens salivate, and even with the faint light from the little-less-than-half moon barely illuminating the space enough to see, it was beautiful in its grayscale. For the umpteenth time, she reached to her back pocket to ensure her flashlight was still in place, even though she could feel its weight against her butt. Her eyes darted to where she knew the benches and tables to be, and found no one; she stopped suddenly and put a hand on her cocked hip.

"Son of a bitch," she mumbled, double-checking and growing indignant.

"You're late," a voice called, making her jump. She looked around frantically.

"Only a little. Where are you?" Silence answered, and the scientist continued casting her eyes around the dark. A chill sent shivers down her spine, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Warm breath brushed her ear.

"Boo."

Bulma squealed, spinning around and hitting the potential assailant in the chest as hard as she could. "Damnit, Vegeta," she shouted at his smirking face, choosing to ignore the twinkle of mirth in his eyes. "Don't scare me like that! You're such a jerk!" He shrugged simply, and his features adopted his default look of boredom and indifference.

"You're fifteen minutes late, woman. You said 'eight forty-five,' and it has long passed." She looked away guiltily; she was bad about being on time. Instead of offering a sad excuse, she turned and walked toward a small box set on a tripod, Vegeta on her heels.

"We need to check all aspects of your vision, and one of them is how well you see in the dark." She placed a small hand atop the misshapen box. "This camera is programmed to 'see' as well as a person with 20/20 vision. I'll compare the results I get between you two and see where you stand." He nodded, staying with the camera when she walked away.

"Okay, Vegeta," Bulma called, hitting a button to start recording on the camera. "I've lined up a few shapes around here. What's the farthest one behind me that you can see clearly?"

He strained his eyes, focusing intently on the space behind the silhouette's left ear.

"No squinting."

He scowled, blinked, and tried again.

"I think I see a square."

"Squirrel?" She spun around, looking. "I didn't put up a-"

"Square!"

Bulma turned back to him, surprise etched across her face. "Oh, sorry. Okay, that's… fifteen feet? Yeah, that's right. Okay, distance is fifteen feet. Next, I need you to close your eyes. I'm going to wander around, and you have to pick me out. It's not a trick, I'm not hiding. If you can't find me, the camera may not be able to either. We'll just have to see, okay?" His eye twitched and he reluctantly closed them. Fucking games. "Okay, where am I?"

He opened his eyes, glanced around, and spotted her. Once more. And again, for nearly ten minutes.

"Stop."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Vegeta closed his eyes, told her to resume. When she called out to him, his eyes stayed closed. "Twenty paces to the left, about an arm's reach to the skinny tree and in front of the rosebush." He looked at her, and she seemed confused. "Your test is faulty. I'm not picking you out with my eyes, I'm listening for you. Also, I've been here before, and am familiar with the landscape. It is easy to find a deformed area. If you truly want to test my sight, you will have to mute my other senses."

Bulma seemed to mull over his words, and when she realized he was right, she sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. What a waste of time. Why hadn't she thought of that? A man who could tell who was in the room by listening to their footsteps would naturally use his ears to fill in the blanks his eyes were leaving in the gloom. She sauntered over to a table and sat heavily on a chair, throwing her feet onto the faux-glass top. After considering it for a moment, Vegeta joined her.

"I was hoping to have this done by tomorrow," she griped, face in her hand. "But oh, well."

Against his better judgment, he asked, "What's so important about tomorrow?"

She eyed him warily, unsure why he was interested, but smiled because he'd even asked. "My birthday. I'm having a party." Bulma chewed her lip, and ultimately, her next question. "Want to come?"

He snorted. "No." Glancing over, Vegeta took in her disappointed expression. "I have no interest in attending a party of any sort. Enjoy your birthday, but do keep me out of it." Bulma frowned at him.

"You're such a party-pooper. Haven't _you_ ever celebrated a birthday?"

"I'm sure I did, when I was a child." He grinned suddenly, a fierce and mischievous look. "Except once, when I turned eighteen. Nappa and Raditz insisted on taking me out."

Bulma quirked an eyebrow; she didn't recognize these names, and was sure she'd learn as little of them as she had of Vegeta, but the man had never grinned before, and she was intrigued. "Pray, tell."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, but could not diminish his amusement. "I don't remember much, except for Nappa knocking out a bouncer and me hiding in a dumpster from the police. Oh, and finding Raditz, unconscious and dressed in drag, in the back seat of my car early the next morning." By the end of his statement, he was barking with laughter and clutching his sides at the memory. Bulma assumed he was omitting a good deal of the story if he was laughing that hard, but this was such a strange sight she couldn't argue.

"Who's Raditz?"

His laughing slowly faded into a broad smirk. "He was a comrade, so to speak."

"Where is he now? Have you contacted him since you've been hurt?" His smirked faded slightly, and she suddenly regretted asking, because she knew what he would say.

"Raditz died five years ago. He made a stupid mistake and it got him killed."

"Oh. I'm, uh, sorry to hear that."

He nodded. "Somebody needs to be."

Stunned, Bulma sat in silence, looking occasionally at the man beside her. Vegeta had somehow procured a drink, though what she couldn't tell, and it made her realize he really had been here, waiting for her. "How long were you waiting?"

His scowl deepened as he thought. "Thirty-eight minutes."

Before she could reply, the door to the gardens opened, letting in a sliver of light. Both parties squinted at the source, a strange silhouette leaning in through the doorway. "Hey, babe. Did you forget about dinner?"

Bulma shot to her feet. "Shit, I'm so sorry, I totally forgot! I got so sidetracked with this test and the grav-sim upstairs, it just slipped my mind."

The shape chuckled and stepped inside, and Vegeta could finally make out the chaotic ponytail and stupid grin that was characteristic of the fool. He snorted, and Yamcha frowned at him. "Oh. Hi Vegeta." In return, he raised the hand holding his drink, even going so far as to lift two fingers in a small wave. Yamcha turned to see Bulma smiling at them.

"Vegeta and I were running a small experiment, but I underestimated him and had to can the whole thing."

"Yeah, cool," the baseball player interrupted, sweeping a dismissive hand in Vegeta's direction. "Do you still want to go out to dinner, or would you rather stay here with _him_?" Ignoring the jealous comment, Bulma patted Vegeta's hair –and received a threatening growl in return– and left a quick peck on her boyfriend's cheek before dashing out of the garden. The fighter merely shook his head and took a swig from his drink. Absently, he listened to Yamcha approach.

"You need to leave her alone," Yamcha said through gritted teeth. "She's mine."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow. "Is she now? I had no idea women were still considered property." He chuckled and took a drink. "Besides, I've tried. That bitch won't leave _me_ alone. She's always asking some damn question or another."

"Don't you dare call her a bitch!"

He finally glanced at the man. "Or what, weakling?"

"Or I'll beat some respect into you, Vegeta. I'm not afraid of you."

The mercenary smirked, truly amused. "That just means I'm not trying hard enough." Quick as a flash, he was on his feet with one hand wrapped around Yamcha's throat, his face stony and cold. Yamcha tried to swallow, found his throat blocked, and coughed. Vegeta brought his face closer and stared holes into the taller man's face. "Do not assume you can tell me what to do," he said in a low tone. "Else I may decide to go after your woman, if only to piss you off. And do not be mistaken: I will succeed." Yamcha tried to come up with a retort but found that hand was still blocking his windpipe, and only replied with a strangled yet affirmative response. With a brisk nod, Vegeta released him and walked quickly out of the gardens to go who-knows-where, passing a newly redressed Bulma on his way out. She raised an eyebrow at the man left behind, who was rubbing his neck slowly.

"What just happened?" she asked. He shook his head, walking forward and offering her his arm.

* * *

A loud slam outside made Vegeta look up at the opened window. He considered ignoring the incident, chalking it up to the woman being back from her date, and wasn't disappointed when a second slam was heard. He shrugged and turned back to his book. At least _somebody_ was getting laid.

"Damnit, Bulma, listen to me!" His dark eyes looked up again beneath furrowed brows. He hated being interrupted.

"No. _You_ listen to _me._" Out of sheer curiosity and a sadistic sense of humor, he set his book on the table and walked to the window. The library was on the third floor of Capsule Corp and gave him a fantastic view of the fight below. "I will not put up with you scouting out girls while you're taking me out for my _birthday_!"

"I was not scouting anything!" If his flailing arms were anything to go by, Vegeta knew the fool to be somewhere between absolutely wild and completely livid. He grinned. "You're just blowing things out of proportion. Again."

Bulma stomped. "Quit trying to turn things around on me. This is about you and what a stupid jerk you are!"

"No, this is about you and your paranoia. Stop blaming me for things I'm not doing."

"I'm only blaming you for things you do, like _staring at the waitress's tits for half an hour!_" Yamcha finally sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"You know what? I'll see you tomorrow, Bulma. Have a good night." With that, he was gone, back behind the wheel of his car and peeling out of the driveway while Bulma stomped upstairs. Vegeta frowned, there went his entertainment.

…

Capsule Corp's main living room area was on the second floor, with the majority of one wall being picture windows and sliding glass doors. These doors led out to a balcony that stretched the length of the room and jutted nine feet out from the building. On it was two tables, both pearly white to match not only the balcony but the color scheme of the room inside, each with three chairs around it. One table housed a circular, clear glass ashtray, a pack of cigarettes, and a bottle of beer; the figure at the table had their feet propped on it and was leaning back so the front two feet of the chair hovered off the ground.

Bulma closed her eyes and brought her half-huffed cigarette to her lips, but found the item missing when her fingers reached their destination. She looked at her hand, confused, and found her cig missing. _The hell?_

"You know," said a deep, rough voice, causing Bulma to jump. "I didn't take you to be a smoker."

She shook herself as Vegeta took the seat to her left and tried to look as grumpy as possible. She wanted him to know his presence was not welcome; he didn't seem to take notice. "Old habit." He hummed a response as his eyes grazed over the glowing tip. She made a swipe, but he was too quick, and brought it to his own lips. Her eyes widened when he took a deep drag, his gaze never leaving hers.

_I dare you_, they seemed to say. _Do something_.

He exhaled the smoke out of his nose and scowled at the thing in his hand. "Disgusting. You ought to quit."

She tried to grab it again, and when he pulled it away, she growled in agitation. "You men just _love_ to piss me off, don't you?"

When his eyes met hers again, they were hard, serious. "You think him unfaithful?"

She looked away. The way he said it hit harder than any of Yamcha's arguments, as if even _Vegeta_ knew it was bullshit. "No, I just worry. Yamcha's a good looking guy, plenty of girls would be willing to hop in the sack with him, and I don't know if I can trust him to turn them down."

"Tch," he scoffed, tapping the ash into the ashtray expertly. "Weakling."

Bulma scowled as he took another drag. "Why do you call him that?" He exhaled before he answered, watching her manicured fingers fish out another cigarette from the pack.

"That is what he is." She looked up, the fresh cigarette almost to her lips, waiting for an explanation. "A weakling is possessive, because they are insecure. A weakling shows his weaknesses to his opponent. A weakling cannot prove himself trustworthy. A weakling leaves his woman," he licked his lips, smirked. "Unsatisfied."

Bulma blushed furiously and looked down at the table, searching for the lighter, hoping she was taking his words completely wrong and it was simply a lucky guess. She couldn't find the damn thing and when she looked up, she found his eyes glinting with suppressed laughter and that mischievous grin once more plastered to his face. She swallowed. "I'll have you know, Yamcha is a fantastic lover."

Something flared in front of her, catching her gaze. Vegeta was offering a flame from her lighter. After an uncertain second, she accepted, feeling his stare on her face the whole time.

"He must be doing something wrong if you suspect him of adultery."

Her blue eyes landed on his face, wondering what he meant, and watched as he put his(her) cigarette out in the ashtray. Standing, he glanced at a watch on his wrist that she hadn't really noticed before. As he left, he called over his shoulder, "Happy birthday."

* * *

Goku ducked his head to the side as his right hand knocked the oncoming fist in the opposite direction. When his opponent made to counter with a foot aimed for his midsection, he twisted his body and watched the kick go by. He returned with a roundhouse kick aimed for his opponent's head, found it blocked, cocked back his foot and tried to force the heel into the other man's nose, but caught nothing but empty space. Goku brought his foot to the ground, bounced on his toes for a moment.

"You're getting pretty quick," he said through a grin. "Your training must be going pretty well."

Vegeta snarled. "Apparently not. You should be bloodier." Goku laughed.

"You always say that. Maybe I'm just keeping up with you?"

The smaller of the two grinned. "Let me fix that."

He lunged, right fist pulled back and charging at Goku's face. The latter tossed his left hand to the side, using his opponent's momentum against him and pushing him off balance. Too late, the guard caught the grin on Vegeta's face and steeled himself for the coming impact. He'd been expecting the block, he realized, and used the sudden shift to his advantage by twisting his body and bringing the heel of his right foot over his head and then down onto the side of Goku's neck. Goku caught his weight when one knee and both hands hit the ground. Vegeta advanced with both hands clasped and raised over his head, prepared to deliver the finishing blow, but the guard kicked his legs out behind him, dropped, felt the wind rush by his head as he fell into a push-up position. Just as fast, he pushed back up, lifted one hand back while pushing away with the other, and his elbow crashed into Vegeta's unsuspecting head. They both collapsed, groaning and reaching for their respective injuries.

"Call it a night?" Goku croaked, one hand over the battered muscle of his neck. His companion groaned as he sat up.

"If you must," he replied, rubbing his temple. Goku offered a lopsided grin; that was Vegetaspeak for 'yes, please.' They sat there a moment, each doing an internal checklist of the damage done, both pleased that it wasn't extensive.

"Hey, Vegeta?" When he looked up, Goku went on. "You know a lot about weapons and stuff, right?" He nodded. "Well, I was wondering if, maybe, you know, you could teach me a little."

Vegeta's eye twitched. "Like what?"

"Well, I've never fired a gun before, and-"

"What?" he shouted, wearing a horrified expression. "How can you think you're capable of guarding _yourself_ when you've never fired a weapon before, let alone that woman?"

Goku scratched his head idly. "I've never really needed it before. But, will you?"

Vegeta seemed to consider it a moment, before a broad smirk stretched over his face. "Give me a minute." He stood and moved over to his shoes. From one, he pulled a cell phone and dialed a number.

"_Who the hell is this?_" Vegeta grinned.

"Turk Walkes," he replied. "Nappa, how old are you?" There was a short pause.

"_Sixty-one_," the old man replied slowly. "_You should know that._"

"Hn. For some reason, I was thinking you were forty-seven."

Rule #47: Do not have incriminating conversations over the phone; the call can be traced, recorded, or reported. If one _must_ be had, speak in code, and _do_ try to keep up.

Nappa was silent for some time before he said, "_What can I help you with, _Turk?"

"Well, you see, I have these flowers that I was thinking about planting in my garden. I was wondering if you knew that hardware store we frequented was still open."

"_Are you sure you don't want to plant them in the ground?_"

"No, no. They might add something to my collection."

"_Well, alright. It should be open, but you might want to call ahead._"

"Thank you, Nap-"

"_Oh, Turk? Be sure to cover your head. You don't want to get burned like last time._"

Vegeta's upper lip curled up as he snapped the phone shut. When he looked back to his company, he looked devious. "Tomorrow evening, Kakarot. Seven-thirty, be waiting downstairs. You drive."

Goku lit up like a candle. "Oh, thanks Vegeta! But, what was that you were saying about flowers?" The smaller man just chuckled and walked off, barefoot and shirtless. Goku shrugged on a shirt and left the training area, walking up a flight of stairs to a landing that led to the main Capsule Corp building.

He found Chi-Chi and Mrs. Briefs decorating the living room, the latter of which turned when he entered. "Oh, Goku, I was wondering when I'd see you." He smiled.

"Hiya, girls. How goes it?"

Chi-Chi frowned at him. "Why are you bleeding?"

"Vegeta and I were sparring." She gave him a horrified expression. "Don't worry, I'm not as bad as I look."

She glanced at the ground as Bulma's mother wandered off to fix some balloons to a far wall. "What's this Vegeta like?"

Goku shrugged. "He's kinda tough, but not unfriendly. It just takes a little effort to understand him." His smile broadened. "I think I'm starting to grow on him."

She grinned. "What makes you think that?"

"He hasn't broken my ribs in several weeks." Chi-Chi gaped. "Well, I'm gonna take a shower. I'll see you girls later." On his way up the stairs, he passed Bulma, with her hair up in curlers and clad in a fluffy, pale pink robe.

"Oh, hey Chi-Chi," she called. "When did you get here?"

"Not too long ago." The princess glanced back where Goku had disappeared to, then ran closer to her friend. "So, has Vegeta really been breaking Goku's ribs?"

Bulma nodded. "On occasion, but he dishes out just as good of a beating. He broke Vegeta's nose two weeks ago." That seemed to please her.

"This guy isn't going to be at the party, right?" Her friend shrugged.

"He said he wouldn't, but he likes to change his mind, just to mess with my plans. He's kind of a jerk." Bulma unexpectedly bit her lip as red tinged her cheeks. "He did wish me a happy birthday last night, which was unexpected."

Chi-Chi giggled and pressed herself closer to Bulma's side. "You don't have a _thing_ for this guy, right? I mean, he beat up your boyfriend."

The heiress frowned. "I know that. I'm just saying." Chi-Chi scoffed.

"Yeah, right. What does Yamcha say about all this?" Bulma rolled her eyes.

"I don't care what Yamcha thinks. I don't even care if he shows up tonight. Stupid jerk."

The darker-haired woman raised an eyebrow. "What did he do _this _time?"

Bulma tossed a hand through the air dismissively. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to think about it. I'm in a good mood, it's my birthday, I'm going to have an awesome party with my best friends and favorite coworkers, and nothing is going to ruin it for me."

* * *

_"Happy birthday to you,"_

He stood in the back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, scowling at the crowd of people around him. He did not sing along.

_"Happy birthday to you,"_

She sat at the head of the table, beaming at her friends and family behind a white and pink cake, bedecked with candles in the shapes of a 2 and a 7. Her mother stood to her right, failing to notice a bit of frosting on the knuckle of her thumb that had Bulma choking back laughter. Her father stood by with a camera and an unlit cigarette that poked upwards, indicating a smile. Yamcha had a hand on her shoulder and a fresh haircut, which she had to admit she liked. It hadn't taken much to win her forgiveness; it never did. It only ever took patience and puppy dog eyes.

_"Happy birthday, dear Bulma,"_

Gohan, Goku, and Krillin stood among the crowd, the tallest of whom was accompanied by Chi-Chi. They offered a dopey smile and/or a thumbs-up when the subject of the party made eye contact with them.

_"Happy birthday to you."_

The crowd cheered and applauded their rendition of the chant, then doubled their efforts when Bulma successfully blew out the two candles. The lights were somehow turned back on, and Mrs. Briefs procured an impressive looking knife to divvy up the cake. Somehow, in the stampede that charged and the ensuing chaos of getting a piece, Bulma found herself back in her living room and looking around confusedly. A touch on her back caused her to jump, but she turned and was met with a surprised and chuckling Yamcha. "Sorry, babe," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you." Bulma put a hand on her chest and breathed slowly. "Hey, so I, uh, I got you something."

Bulma beamed as he procured a small box, poorly wrapped in red paper and too much tape. She giggled at the sight of it, and with a little effort, revealed a velvet ring box. Inside was a silver ring with a small sapphire flanked by a diamond on either side. Yamcha fit it onto the ring finger of her right hand. "Oh, it's beautiful!" she swooned, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thank you so much, Yamcha!"

He offered her a sheepish grin. "So, am I welcome to the after-party now?" Bulma laughed and smacked his arm, but nodded all the same. "Want something to drink?"

"Yeah. I'm going to wait out here, the kitchen is scary right now." He smiled and left, and she cast her eyes down to the ring on her hand, admiring the craft and how beautifully it shone.

"Hn. Now I understand."

Bulma spun around, staring wide-eyed at the man behind her. "Vegeta! I thought you weren't going to come to my party?" His face was a hard scowl, and something about the disgust on his features made her squirm. "What's up?"

"I suddenly understand this dynamic. You're weak, just like him. You push him around and away, and he comes crawling back on his hands and knees. He offers you shiny baubles to distract you from his past transgressions, and like the stupid and materialistic woman you are, _you accept_."

Bulma gaped at him; his words stung her pride. With a sudden and horrifying solidity, she realized he was right. Her pride forced her shoulders to square and her eyes to narrow, prepared to battle the issue, but he was gone, already at the stairs that would lead him to his room. She watched him a moment, unsure how to handle the problem, but decided it didn't matter what the correct plan of action was, she just wanted to go yell at him. Unsteady on her heels, the heiress kicked her shoes off and raced upstairs after him.

His door was shut and locked, and no amount of pounding did anything productive. "Vegeta, open this door. We are not done, get back out here." She slammed her hands as hard as she could on the door, but only managed to hurt herself and receive a chuckle in response from the other side. By this time, she was fuming. "Vegeta Whatever-your-last-name-is, if you do not open this door right now, I will come back with tools _and take it off its hinges!_"

There was a pause where he seemed to consider this, a click, a clack, and the door swung open. Though he couldn't have had more than three inches on her, Vegeta somehow towered over his adversary. "Well?" he asked expectantly. With more gusto than she thought she had, Bulma shoved him back into his room; he stumbled, stared at her wide-eyed as she advanced on him.

"How _dare_ you!" she fumed, poking him in the chest. "How _dare _you say-"

"The truth?" he countered, challenging. "He's weak for refusing to stand up to you and bending to your every whim, and you for refusing to admit your spark is gone."

Bulma's jaw fell, then snapped together as her eyebrows drew down. "My spark is _not_ gone. I love Yamcha."

"Is that so? Because I've seen you stare at me like a piece of meat, and that is not characteristic of a woman in love."

"Shut up!" she screamed, stomping. "You have no right to talk to me like this, you fucking _mooch_, and I don't care about what you think. You don't know me and you don't know Yamcha, so stay out of my relationship, okay?"

He grinned, but lacked humor. "Gladly, now get out."

Rather than do that, Bulma stalked forward, and they stood nose to nose with eyes narrowed at the other. "I _love_ Yamcha, despite his wrongdoings. I'm going to marry him. Just wait and see."

"Who are you trying to convince?" he asked smoothly. Bulma's nostrils flared and her eyes flashed brilliantly. He smirked. "I thought you didn't care what I thought?"

She clenched her jaw, turned on her heel, and stormed out. Vegeta scowled after her, then left for the library.

* * *

A/N: Like it? Love it? Hate its guts? REVIEW AND TELL ME.


	5. Damsel in Distress

A/N: **PLEASE READ ME. **Couple things to say. Ready? Okay, brace yourself.

1.) For the next few (probably all) updates, I'm going to have _**extra content**_. I mean bonus chapters, cut scenes, extra information, all sorts of stuff. I'll post roughly once daily, and you can tell me the kind of stuff you want to see from the extra content page via my 'say something' button. Here's the catch: I want a nice, healthy review. Tell me what you liked and didn't like, you know, the shit I've been preaching since I got here. If you're a frequent and/or good reviewer, I'll give you access to the bonus stuff.

2.) This chapter has been cut in half, because it was twelve pages long and ridiculous to post as one chapter. I mean, ridiculous, especially since the voice just **changed. **If this seems pretty short, don't worry, I'll update again quicker this time because the next chapter's already done!

3.) I just got back to college, woo! I started classes today, so the updates might come a _little_ slower, but probably not by much. As I said, I'm a chapter or two ahead of you guys, so I've got some time to get stuff hammered out before the waiting period becomes obscene.

4.) I want to thank Cara2012, as always, for taking time and being an awesome beta. Seriously guys, you should thank her. It makes me read the chapters a million times before I send it to her, and then _she_ reads it and tells me what still needs to be fixed. Cool, huh?

Okay! End of long note, start of long update. Enjoy.

* * *

**Damsel in Distress Pt. 1**

To say he was amazed when, the morning after Bulma's party, he came downstairs and found the heiress not only awake, but dressed and chatting with her mother in the kitchen would have been an understatement. It caught him off guard, had him blinking in confusion before he entered. He observed how Bulma gripped her coffee mug with a firm but shaking hand, there was an uneven smudge of makeup under her left eye, and in place of a headband over a mess of curls, her blue hair was straight and pulled in a neat ponytail. She smiled at him, but it seemed off-kilter.

"Morning, Goku," she said cheerily. Mrs. Briefs wiggled her fingers at him.

"Breakfast will be ready in a minute, dear."

He yawned. "Okay, thanks." When he straightened, Goku looked at Bulma. "What's with you? You're never up this early."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I just didn't sleep well. A good day of work will fix that, though. I did some thinking last night, and I think I figured out the problem I've been having with the simulator, so I'm gonna go tinker with it for a while, then maybe build a prototype. Maybe have it the size of a box so I can run a few tests inside."

Goku stared blankly at her. "Did you sleep at all?"

She took a sip of her coffee, and without looking up, replied, "No." He frowned.

"How come? Didn't the party wear you out?"

"I just had a rough night."

Mrs. Briefs giggled as she placed a plate of food in front of him. "I think I saw Yamcha leave a little _later_ than most of the other guests."

Bulma blushed furiously and batted at the woman. "Mom, don't say stuff like that!"

The elder cocked her head to the side, looking at her daughter curiously. "Why, dear? I'm sure I saw Chi-Chi leave just before Yamcha did." The heiress turned to gape at her guard, whose face had turned three shades of red. Uncomfortable, Goku laughed.

"If you'll excuse me," Bulma said, turning to leave as she pulled something out of her pocket. "I have a phone call to make." She dashed into the living room and flopped onto the couch while the other end rang four times. She thought she'd have to leave a message when there was a click and a few dragging noises.

"_Wuddaya wan'?_" Bulma stifled a giggle.

"Late night?" she asked teasingly. Chi-Chi groaned. "Mom said she saw you leave pretty late."

There was a pause, a small laugh, then, "_Yeah._"

"I hope you were planning on telling me."

"_Of course. Wait, hey, I just remembered I never talked to you last night, but I watched you run off after that Vegeta guy. What happened?_"

"Ugh, he is _such_ a jerk. He came and insulted me at my birthday party."

"_What'd he say?_"

"Oh, just crap that I don't care to think about. Don't worry about it."

"_I didn't think he was supposed to be there at all._"

"I told you, he likes to change his mind just to mess with me."

"_Pretty inconsiderate, if you ask me. Anyways, I'll see you later tonight, okay?_" Chi-Chi hung up and Bulma cursed herself before flitting into the kitchen. Goku was bent over a plate, shoveling food into his mouth; a tousled looking Gohan now joined him, slouching to the elder's left. To her chagrin, Vegeta sat at the end opposite of her, eating politely and frowning at Goku with a disapproving gaze. Bulma groaned internally.

"Goku," she started. "I need you to work tonight. Chi-Chi and I are going dancing, and I need someone to keep an eye on her. I'll have Yamcha with me, but you know how Chi-Chi gets when she drinks."

He nodded. "Sthu, noh a bobum." Bulma frowned at him. Goku swallowed, then grinned sheepishly. "Sure, not a problem." Vegeta cleared his throat, made eye contact with the other man, and Goku shrunk slightly. "Oh, wait, I can't. I have plans."

Bulma gaped at him. "You never have plans."

He smiled at her. "Vegeta's going to teach me how to shoot."

She turned her gaze to the smaller man, who had not looked at her the entire time. "You're doing what now?" His gaze stayed on his plate.

"The fool's training is insufficient, and he has requested I teach him what I know. I offered to take him tonight to teach the basics, and it is an offer I will not repeat."

Goku frowned at Bulma, slowly adopting a pleading look akin to small kittens. While she slowly crumbled, Vegeta's upper lip curled back in disgust. What a clown. Eventually, Bulma threw her hands in the air, storming off and calling back something about Gohan going with her instead.

* * *

It seemed that it was going to be one of those days where _everything_ goes wrong.

_Ms. Briefs_

_We have examined the designs of your Gravity Simulator for the Intergalactic Space Ship your father is building. There are too many design flaws and malfunctions for the invention to be sent to Development yet. Contact me after the product has been improved._

_Chaz Tarth_

_Head of Development_

Bulma sighed, chin in her hands as she clicked to read the next email waiting for her.

_Bulma_

_I heard about development denying the simulator, so sorry dear. Anyways, I looked over the design, made a few notes, you know the usual, and attached it to this email. Let me know if they're of any help or if you need anything else._

_Dad_

The heiress printed the altered schematics as she pulled over her original design and a red pencil and set to work correcting it. She decided she would take her father's advice into account after she'd had a chance to make her own corrections; though she appreciated the man's intellect and ingenuity, Bulma realized she needed to be able to do her own work, without using her father as a crutch. The grav-sim was her baby and she would see it through.

When her first redraft was completed, several hours had passed in a blur of physics and arithmetic and she was ready for her father's input. She pushed her chair towards her printer, then frowned at the blinking message waiting for her. Paper tray empty. Damnit. Bulma stormed off, white coat billowing after her, black shoes clacking angrily as she went. "Stupid paper tray," she grumbled. "Why does it choose to run out of paper _now_?" The stockroom was downstairs, and the elevator was stuck on the twelfth floor. The stairs were out of the way and the only route available.

Dr. Briefs was a renowned claustrophobic. As such, when he had the Industrial Building constructed, there were no stairwells built. He instead demanded staircases that were open to the next floor with clear faux-glass sides to the railings. Any elevator built was spacious and well-vented.

Therefore, when someone called Bulma's name, causing her to turn and her heel to slip, everyone on the floor below watched their boss's daughter tumble over and over until she hit the landing and howled in pain.

Dr. Briefs cocked his head to the side, the flashlight in his hand focusing for too long in his patient's eye. "The devil is that sound?" he mused.

Vegeta batted his hand away. "Geeze, old man, are you _trying _to blind me?" He sat up, rubbing his eye. "What sound?" It took a second, but then he heard it, screaming.

"I think that's Bulma!" Dr. Briefs cried, alarmed. He raced out the door, and with a groan, Vegeta followed. They found her on the ground, sitting on her hip, weeping and tenderly touching her ankle. The doctor ran to his daughter's side; Vegeta strolled to her ankle, kneeled, and mercilessly peeled off her shoe.

"Stop touching it!" she cried, trying to bat him away. He caught her hand easily, held her at bay as he prodded a swollen bit that seemed to protrude. Bulma wailed.

"Vegeta, please," demanded her father.

"Oh, quiet, she'll be fine," he snapped. "She's dislocated her ankle, it isn't broken." She sobbed, in pain or relief, he wasn't sure, but he didn't really care. "Bulma." She looked at him, shocked that he'd used her name. "Where were you coming from?"

She frowned. "My office."

"Where is that? Floor and room number."

"How is this-"

He growled. "Answer me."

"F-Fourth floor, room four eight-"

_!pop!_

"You son of a bitch!"

Vegeta snickered, pressed around her tender ankle some more, but the pain had eased immensely. Dr. Briefs blinked at him. "What did you-"

"I reset her ankle, but she should be checked for damaged tendons."

"Will you get her to the infirmary? I need to write out an accident report and I can't carry her." Vegeta grimaced, but nodded all the same, bending to hook his arms beneath Bulma's shoulders and knees. Overwhelmed and very relieved, she didn't fight, choosing instead to rest her head against his chest.

"Why did you ask where my office is?" she asked softly after they had left the company of others. "You're not planning on coming to bother me, are you?"

"I did it to distract you from what I was doing."

"Why would you do that?"

"It hurts less if you're not expecting it."

She was silent a moment, and they arrived at the infirmary. Rather than try to seek anyone out, he sat her on the bed and set about finding bandages and tape. She watched in silent wonder as he wrapped the bandage around her ankle in a very meticulous and automatic way. His grip was too tight, but the pressure from the wrap helped, and when he stepped away, Bulma grinned sheepishly at him.

"I'll send Kakarot or the child to come get you. You need to have that looked at. Don't put any weight on it."

She nodded dumbly, and he turned to leave. "Hey, Vegeta?" He stopped and looked over his shoulder. She wanted to thank him, but with his harsh words from the night before still fresh on her mind, she bit her tongue, and her pride asked, "How did you know what to do?"

Vegeta grunted. "When you take damage, you learn to repair it."

"Did you dislocate something?" He frowned.

"Yes, when I was a boy."

And he was gone. Bulma sighed, wondering what she was supposed to do with a busted ankle. Groaning, the heiress pulled her phone out and called the most recently dialed number. "Chi," she whined when the other person answered. "Change of plans."

* * *

He punched the side of Goku's head, a little harder than he intended. Goku yelped. "Ow, that hurt, Vegeta!"

The other man rolled his eyes. "You're not going to hit a target with your eyes closed. Keep them open."

"But, the gun jerks and I just wince. I can't help it."

Vegeta growled. "You must be relaxed. Cock the gun." He did; the gun was a bolt action, heavy, black, and intimidating. Goku had decided he didn't really like the firearm. "Aim while you inhale. Exhale slowly, and fire." He did. Vegeta held up the spare scope he had, inspecting the hit. It was on the jaw of the black silhouette, just above the nine other holes. He sighed. "Damnit, Kakarot."

"Aw, Vegeta, I don't like this. When am I ever going to have to shoot somebody from that far away? I always stay close to Bulma," Goku whined, standing to his full height. Vegeta's eye twitched.

"You should not limit yourself, clown. Any knowledge should be considered inevitably useful."

Goku scratched his head. "Um, what?" Vegeta shook his head and waved a dismissive hand. His patience was wearing thin, his head ached terribly, and his eyes were beginning to play tricks on him. All he wanted to do now was leave for Capsule Corp. Goku held the gun out to him, and he snatched it away as he turned to leave. "Hey, wait," Goku called. "Why don't you take a turn?"

Vegeta paused. "Why? I know how to fire a gun." Goku frowned.

"I'm sure you haven't used one in a while. You haven't used a gun at Capsule Corp, and you haven't really left."

"Shut up, Kakarot."

"Aw, c'mon, Vegeta, one shot and I'll stop."

He growled and made up his mind. From where he was, Vegeta cocked the gun, raised it to his shoulder, and as he exhaled, he aimed and fired; it was one swift, fluid motion, so quick that Goku was dazed. There was no way he just hit the target. No way. He held out a hand for the spare scope, held it to his eye, and gaped. There was a bullet hole through the target's right eye. Goku looked back to the shooter, and was confused when he saw an alarmed expression.

"I missed," Vegeta whispered, almost too soft for Goku to hear. "How the hell did I miss?" They left in silence.

The girls were awake and waiting when they returned at a little past ten p.m. Two empty pints of ice cream stood sentry over the remotes, which had the television showing _The Notebook_. Bulma was emptying a glass of red wine, while Chi-Chi's was nearly full; they both sniffled into half-crumpled tissues. Vegeta looked at them with what could have been disdain. Goku motioned him on, but the mercenary grinned briefly and moved closer.

There was a couple, arguing in the rain by a dock, and if the whimpering girls were anything to go by, it was supposed to be a pivotal scene. He frowned. "What garbage," he growled, making the girls jump. Bulma put her hand over her heart.

"This is not garbage, Vegeta. This is a beautiful and romantic movie." She turned back to the screen. He snorted.

"Aren't you getting enough romance from that weakling?"

Chi-Chi snarled at him. "How dare you! At least Yamcha knows how to treat a lady with respect."

"I treat Mrs. Briefs fine," he retorted in an off-handed manner. Bulma gaped incredulously, and threw a nearby pillow at him as hard as she could. With a casualty that infuriated her, he caught it. Determined not to let him bother her, she turned back to her movie, only to find out that she missed the end of the rain scene, including the wonderful kiss the actors shared.

"Damnit, Vegeta, you made me miss the best part!" A low chuckle floated over to her, and she groaned. Chi-Chi touched her arm.

"Go ahead and rewind it, I'm gonna throw these away," she said as she picked up the empty ice cream pints. Bulma looked at her gratefully.

"Thanks, Chi."

Smiling, the princess wandered into the kitchen, pondering if she was hungry or not. She rounded the corner, and to her dismay, Vegeta was rummaging through the fridge, scowling heavily. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she watched it roll in its socket. She frowned. "That was really rude, you know," she clipped, throwing the containers away. He didn't look up. "We were just enjoying our movie. You didn't have to come over and irritate her."

He scoffed, standing and slamming the fridge shut. "I know that. I really don't _have_ to do anything but go through their stupid tests, just like I don't _have_ to deal with you." He turned to leave.

"You're kinda wishy-washy, you know that?"

Vegeta spun, staring wide-eyed at the woman. "What?"

"You are, you're worse than a woman. One minute you flirt with her, and the next you're tearing her down. What gives?"

"Woman, I do not _flirt_."

"Call it whatever you want, Mr. Macho, but the message is plain and clear." Chi-Chi's frown deepened. "Bulma's in a good relationship with Yamcha. Don't mess it up for her."

He smirked, crossed his arms across his chest, and Chi-Chi understood what Bulma had meant when she said, _I can tell when I've talked myself into a trap. It's like a constant game of chess with Vegeta. He's always thinking about how to gain the advantage._ She swallowed. "A good relationship, you say?" he said mockingly. "That woman is deluding herself. There is nothing good left in that relationship."

"What would you know about it?" Chi-Chi snapped angrily. Vegeta remained looking somber and unfazed.

"She doesn't trust him." He said it as if it was the answer to the universe, so obvious and so simple and so utterly profound. Chi-Chi's tough façade fell. "I have no respect for a woman that ignores the obvious in return for shiny things. She's like a child, and maybe should be treated as such." He snatched an apple out of the bowl on the table and left silently. Chi-Chi couldn't hear his footsteps.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, this was a _little_ Bulma-intensive, but that was the point. I have the extra content for this already _finished_, and will post it shortly (those of you in the know, go check it out). If you want to be "in the know," you know what to do. More Vegeta next time!


	6. The Fortitude of Castles

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the wait. This was, again, going to be longer, but I decided this was a good place to end it. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate it. This is unbeta'd, I didn't want to make you guys wait any more than you already have. By the way, I've removed the password to the extra content, so you can follow the page and keep up with the bonus content, which I've updated. You've got plenty to read. Anyways, enjoy.**

* * *

**The Fortitude of Castles**

They were having a nice conversation (for once) in the gardens; they weren't yelling, fighting, accusing, or anything of the sort. They were eating a lunch that Bulma herself had made, simply enjoying the presence of the other. Yamcha would be leaving for the season soon and wouldn't be coming back for several months; it was a routine they'd fallen into, bickering during the off-season, missing one another and breeding like rabbits when he came home in-season. He was laughing at some joke he'd told, and she was trying not to choke on her sandwich when a loud impact was heard behind them. Bulma turned to watch the door close after – she groaned – Goku and Vegeta. The former was grinning like a Cheshire cat and twirling a red bo in his hands, while the latter followed slowly and deliberately like he always did, but he carried a similar weapon. Yamcha rolled his eyes.

"Hey Bulma!" Goku called, waving. She offered him an uncertain smile. "Do you mind if we practice in here?"

She opened her mouth, but "Yeah, we _do_ mind," interrupted her. Her blue eyes travelled to a red-faced Yamcha. "We were here first, you can find somewhere else."

Goku pouted. "But the training room is too small and Vegeta's got this weird aversion to being outside, so this is really the best place to go." The couple looked to the smaller man.

"What's wrong with going outside?" Bulma asked.

"Men have their quirks; that is mine," Vegeta replied smoothly.

"That's not a quirk, Vegeta, that's a phobia." He shrugged.

"C'mon, guys," Goku continued, unfazed. "The garden's big enough. We'll just be over there." Yamcha looked like he was about to protest, but Goku was already walking off and Vegeta was on his heels. The athlete sighed and Bulma squeezed his arm, making her new bracelet click as it shifted.

"Don't get upset," she cooed. "This is their ball park, Yamcha, and they do live here. There's no reason to kick them out."

He sniffed. "Of course there is. It's peaceful in here now, but it won't be once they start up. All you'll be able to hear is-"

_Clack!_

Distantly, "Haha, nice block, Vegeta. See, I told you it'd come back to you."

"Shut up, clown."

The couple had turned their eyes in the direction of the clamor; Yamcha had been right, the impacts of wood on wood were beyond distracting, now downright overwhelming. Bulma hoped they weren't fighting full-contact because she was sure one of them would end up in the hospital. Through the foliage that blocked their sight, the two of them watched the warriors battle it out. Goku jabbed high at Vegeta, who blocked (_clack!_), spun his bo, twisted it in his right hand to slam into his opponent's right side. _Clack! _Goku knocked the weapon to the side, raised the staff, and tried bringing it crashing down. Vegeta caught the impact in the center of his weapon, between his braced hands. _Clack!_ Using that momentum, the taller male quickly pulled the bo back and jabbed it forward, as if to strike his enemy in the jaw. Bulma nearly jumped out of her chair; the attack missed by inches, and Vegeta looked furious. He hadn't been quick enough to block.

"Aw, don't get mad," the younger said. "You're still getting reacquainted with bojutsu, it takes time and practice."

"Yes, I'm aware," Vegeta replied. "Stop patronizing me, Kakarot."

Goku nodded, and they returned to their fight. Yamcha looked at Bulma with narrowed eyes, but she didn't notice. The men were getting faster, and Vegeta seemed to be catching on. The impacts started coming quicker, closer together, with kiais becoming more frequent. The fighters kept disappearing behind the leaves and bushes, and soon the heiress was on her feet, mesmerized, Yamcha long forgotten as her curiosity led her to the battle. There was a pause, and she worried someone had been injured, but as she raced around a line of brush, the boys were picking up their weapons once more; they had only paused to remove their shirts.

She watched in awe, sure to stay far enough away to avoid being collateral damage. Goku moved quickly, staying low to the ground and keeping an eye out for weaknesses. Vegeta maintained a different stance, staying higher from the ground, moving slowly, striking quickly, occasionally twisting the bo in his hands to distract his opponent. The taller of them grinned, dipped low, made a swipe for Vegeta's legs; predictably, he jumped, shifting the staff so the far end would come crashing down on Goku's exposed skull, except Goku rolled, came up in a kneeling position, and when the other's feet hit the ground, the bo slammed into the back of his knees, making them buckle. With a shout, Vegeta fell backwards, and Goku was upon him, end of his weapon dangerously close to Vegeta's face.

They froze. Then the grounded man batted the weapon out of his face and sat slowly up. Goku sat heavily across from him, grinning. Bulma released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Vegeta was breathing hard, sweat glistened off his skin. The knotted scars that stretched in deep trenches across his torso seemed to move, to writhe as snakes beneath the surface of his flesh. She wondered how he got them. He ran one hand through his upswept hair, brushing a few strands back into place.

"Where did you learn how to fight with a staff, Vegeta?" Bulma asked, taking a step forward. He turned his head, glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes, and shrugged.

"My father," he grunted and didn't continue.

"He only kind of mentioned it," Goku offered, grinning. "It took a while to get Vegeta to agree to a spar, something about not being very good, but I think you did just fine!" The fighter in question rolled his eyes.

"I never said I wasn't _good_ at it," he snarled with a firm glare. "I said I didn't easily remember it. It has been a while since I used these kinds of weapons."

"How come?" Bulma asked. Again, he barely spared her a graze of his eyes.

"Because they are tools of stealth and surprise," Vegeta said slowly, as if to a child. "If the weapon was not intended for a silent kill, it was probably created for self-defense." He motioned lazily toward the dark-wood bo at his side as an example. "I have need for neither. If I must choose a weapon, conventional firearms may be loud, but they are smaller and more for distancing, and I do not need a tool for hand-to-hand combat."

"Then why did your father want you to train in… bo-whatwasit?" she pressed.

"Bojutsu."

"Yeah, that."

The warrior sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could see her in his peripheral vision, getting closer in her interest, and briefly was tempted to scare her away with the weapon lying peacefully beside him. _Vegeta, this is a weapon for defense; it would be disrespectful to attack someone maliciously with a bo, and there would be no honor in it, so I expect you to use this properly. Yes, Father._ His ebon eyes moved back to the heiress, who was within arm's reach. "Because he felt like it," he responded while one pale hand stretched for the staff. Something blue glittered on her wrist; Vegeta grabbed her with an uncanny speed, stared at the newest addition to her garish jewelry collection, and tossed the limb away with a sound of disgust.

"The hell was that?" Bulma demanded as she rubbed her assaulted skin.

He scowled heavily as he replied, "Oh, nothing important, just petty materialism once again glossing over the flaws of a fool."

"What was that?" came the foreseeable reply from a now livid Yamcha. His face was turning an interesting shade of red as he approached the shirtless male. Goku watched with a disheartened expression; he really couldn't take Vegeta anywhere without him causing some kind of trouble. Vegeta smirked at the baseball player.

"You heard what I said, weakling." He turned his back to the enraged man as he got to his feet and tugged his sleeveless shirt back on. Yamcha was grinding his teeth. "That bawdy piece on her wrist only signifies you once more _buying_ your way into her good graces. You're both idiots."

Yamcha's eyes narrowed dangerously. Bulma moved to stop him, but she was too late. He darted forward, fist drawn to blindside his target, aimed at the back of the smaller man's head. Vegeta's dark eyes caught the movement and right as Yamcha swung his fist, he turned. While his right hand caught Yamcha's collar and his left hand caught the flying arm, his left foot rose and planted itself just above the other man's right knee. Before he knew what was happening, Yamcha was in the air, watching the ground come ever closer. He landed with a sickening thud and a cry of pain. Vegeta scoffed at him and left without a word. Bulma raced over.

"Are you okay?" she cried as she helped him up. He nodded slowly, wincing and rubbing his shoulder.

"Man, I hate that guy," Yamcha grumbled. Bulma looked at him sympathetically and kissed his cheek before helping him to his feet. Goku was there, heaving Yamcha's weight as well, but he looked troubled. Bulma took her injured boyfriend to the Infirmary and ran off when he said he would be fine. She needed to have a word with Vegeta.

Surprisingly, the bastard was in his room. She assumed he was sulking by the terse way he answered her knocking. His dark eyes bore into hers, made her feel like she was the one at fault. But she wasn't going to back down, not this time.

"What do you want?" he growled. Bulma's eyes fell into slits.

"That was too far, Vegeta," she replied in the same tone. One brow rose infuriatingly.

"I disagree. He attacked me, and I-"

"_Threw him across the lawn!_" Whether he noticed it or not, Vegeta took a step back as she started to advance. "Now, I let you fight my guards and eat my food and use my facility because I'm using you as a test subject. But that was too far, Vegeta. Like it or not, you are a guest in _my_ home, and you will follow my rules. If you hurt Yamcha again, you will be out on your ass before you can curve that stupid smirk. If you raise your hand against him _one more time_, I will have the boys beat you within an inch of your life and throw your unconscious body back out on the street you came from. He's leaving in two weeks for the season, and I want you to keep away from both of us until then. If I so much as hear one snide comment from you before he leaves, I will gouge your eyes out with a soldering gun and leave you in the dark where you belong. _Do you understand_?"

She took a breath to calm herself. A muscle jumped in his jaw. At first she thought he might just be stunned, but one look in that gaze told her otherwise. He was absolutely livid. His fists clenched and unclenched and she could hear him struggling to keep his breathing even. She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed – probably swallowing his anger – and his arms crossed defensively over his chest. She expected a retort, an argument of epic proportions. She braced herself for the scathing remarks sure to come her way.

"Fine," he replied, very quiet and very calm, though a vein was beginning to pulse by his temple. "But I won't do one fucking test until he's gone. Now get out."

Bulma blinked, shocked, but gave one quick nod and left quickly. The door slammed behind her, making her jump; she hadn't even noticed him following her out. She paused by the stairs, leaning against the wall to take the weight off her ankle. It had been a few weeks since she'd dislocated it, and she could walk again, but her wardrobe was now limited to flats and sneakers. She and Vegeta had barely said more than a passing word to one another; her father had mostly been the one conducting his tests. She sighed as she decided to hunt down said scientist and make him aware of the situation.

She checked the kitchen, but found only Goku stuffing his face at the table. He smiled and went back to his plate. Bulma started to leave, but a muffled shout held her back. One thin eyebrow quirked at the guard, who was swallowing his food – probably mostly unchewed – and getting to his feet. "Hang on," he managed, banging on his chest. "I wanted to talk to you real quick."

She came back, arms crossed loosely over her chest; she could feel a headache starting to form in her temples. "What's up?"

"I don't want you to be too mad at Vegeta for what happened."

Bulma's eyes nearly popped out of her sockets. "What the hell do you mean? He threw my boyfriend, who was only standing up for me! How can I not be angry?"

He started to look sheepish, but surprised her by holding his ground. "I know what he said was over the line, but he's not exactly a considerate guy. Yamcha attacked him, Bulma. He _reacted_. You should both be grateful he wasn't in a bad mood. I've seen Vegeta's instinctive responses, the guy's lethal. He loves to provoke people, but you can't let him. You won't win."

* * *

Vegeta kept his word. The next day, he vanished. Bulma's mother reported seeing him leave early in the morning with a heavy-looking duffel bag. She worried late into the evening that first day she'd maybe run him off and she'd have to hunt him down and beg him to come back for further testing. Thankfully, that didn't seem to be the case. Shortly after midnight, as she drifted to sleep beside a snoring Yamcha, the low sound of his battered motorcycle pulled her back into consciousness. She didn't even hear him return to his room.

The following days continued in this manner. He was gone before Bulma emerged from her room and returned when he knew most in the house were asleep. She bounced back and forth from guilt at having chased this man from the only place he had to satisfaction that the dangerous beast could be bent to her will. She wondered if maybe she could push it further, but decided that was probably a dangerous thing to test. Still, her curiosity made her mind itch. What the hell would he be doing all day?

She got her chance at an answer when she saw Goku packing a bag one evening. She knocked timidly and he offered her a smile. "Hey Bulma. What's up?"

"That's what I was going to ask," she said, scowling at his bag. He grinned. "What're you packing for?"

"I'm going with Vegeta tomorrow. I'm packing now because he wakes up really early and I'm just gonna roll out of bed and follow him."

It took vast amounts of willpower to keep her devilish grin at bay. "What _has_ he been up to?"

"Quite a few things, actually," he replied, turning to stuff his orange gi into his bag. "He's been practicing shooting, and he found a dojo that'll let him practice on his own."

"So why're _you_ going?"

Goku looked at her like she asked why he was wearing pants. "Because Chi-Chi's doing princess things with her Dad and I asked nicely." He straightened up. "Well, I'm gonna take a shower before dinner, okay? I'll see you downstairs."

* * *

About the same time the next evening, Bulma was getting a glass of tea in the kitchen when heavy footsteps announced someone's arrival. She turned just in time to see Goku entering the living room and falling onto the couch. Vegeta's heels were disappearing up the stairs. She watched him go, then ran into the living room and fell into a seat beside her guard. He raised a tired hand. "How was it?" she asked eagerly. He grinned.

"I'm tired." Her face told him she wasn't letting him go that easy. He sighed. "He made me shoot guns again."

"I thought you wanted to learn."

"I did learn. I don't like it, though, not like Vegeta does. It's almost scary how good he is, even with his eyes all funny. And then, I left to find a vending machine because I was hungry, and when I came back he was talking to this _really big_ bald guy, but he left pretty quickly after that."

Bulma was intrigued. "Did he say who he was?"

"It was Nappa," came the unexpected and low response. Bulma spun. Vegeta was leaning against the wall, holding a bottle of water and staring at her with a stony gaze. Goku grinned sheepishly at them, muttered something about showers, and dashed off. Neither moved for some time. "Where is your pet?" Vegeta asked after he grew bored of the silence.

"He left for the season a couple hours ago," she replied tersely. "Nappa?"

His eyes narrowed briefly. "Yes. He was a friend of my father's."

Was. Past tense. _So his father's dead_. "You've mentioned him before. I didn't know he was bald." Vegeta nodded. "Is he really that big?"

The fighter grinned; she felt relieved to see that expression again. "About 6'7'', if I remember correctly." Bulma gaped. "Yes, he's a monster. Kakarot wasn't lying."

"What was he doing at the shooting range?"

Something about Vegeta's face made her stomach toss nervously. "Keeping me updated." His stony expression returned with a vengeance. "So, the weakling's gone, I guess I have to go back to your father's stupid tests tomorrow." Bulma nodded, and he turned to leave.

"Wait, Vegeta," she said, standing. He raised an eyebrow and faced her slowly. "I, uh, wanted to apologize for… basically kicking you out of your home for, uh, well, unfair reasons. I, didn't realize that, you know-"

"Kakarot talked to you, didn't he?" There was no anger, no malice in his voice, only vague amusement. His face was relaxed, one eyebrow quirked upward. She wanted to be angry, but she remembered she was mid0apologize, and decided to swallow her irritation. She nodded. He mirrored her. "Do not apologize. You weren't kicking me out of any _home_. It was a convenience, really. Maybe I should make pissing you off more of a habit." As her eyes grew wider, he barked a cruel laugh, turned on his heel, and left her to fume alone. So much for civility.

* * *

He was sitting on the balcony, alone, on the cold stone railing off to the left, his back against the wall, one leg hanging dangerously off the wrong side. Clad in soft, dark blue pants, a white t-shirt that had seen better days, and barefoot, he was neither prepared nor wanting for human interaction. A glass-top table had been dragged closer and he occasionally picked something off the top and fiddled with it for some time, before replacing it with a soft and barely-audible _tink_. The fingernail moon was slinking behind a thick haze, and only the weak and lonely streetlamps offered the shrouded man an inkling of light to see by. Vegeta was okay with that. If he couldn't see, that meant it was unlikely anyone else could see.

Well, not anymore.

He growled softly, frustrated again at the situation, and ran a hand through his hair. It hung limply, still wet from the shower he'd taken to rinse off the day. A few dark strands were still heavy enough to hang down into his face. He brushed them away irritably and went back to his task, cleaning one of the small handguns he'd snatched from Raditz's storage garage. They were stored all over Capsule Corp, tucked safely away in unfrequented areas that were pretty easily accessible, in case he was to ever be discovered and attacked. This was the one hidden in the underside of the white couch, a semi-automatic .9 millimeter, common and basic and good enough to get the job done. Still, it was two-thirty in the morning and Vegeta was prone to sleepless nights, so he'd pulled out the gun and started cleaning it.

His mind whirled, and he let it.

_"How'd you know where to find me?"_

_"Girl at the front desk mentioned some guy that was rude to her."_

_He grunted and turned his attention back to the rifle against his shoulder. Nappa procured a blade, seemingly from nowhere, and swung it about. Vegeta frowned. "You're terrible with those."_

_"And you're not doin' too well with that either, but you don't hear me saying shit."_

Vegeta began to reassemble the gun, his dangling foot tapping a slow and irregular beat.

_Quieter, because Kakarot was coming back, "They've started looking for you, Ouji."_

_"I figured they would."_

_"Zarbon showed up on my stoop a week ago, asking if I'd seen you anywhere. I threw him off, but I'm sure he'll come back."_

_He stopped and stared unseeingly at his target. "What do I do, Nappa?"_

_"I… Don't know. I guess just keep doin' what you've been doin' and hope everything turns out alright."_

It was definitely warmer now; summer was in full swing, he conjectured it to be maybe June. It was nearing ten months that he'd been at Capsule Corp, including the five-month coma. He was almost as strong as he'd been before, though slower, less accurate. He raised the reassembled gun, checking the sights and sighing. He didn't know why he was checking the sights; they were useless to him now. Most of his shots were simply from hand-eye coordination gained from years of experience.

There was a light on above and to the left of him, a soft glow that might be a laptop, a nightlight, a lamp. Twice Vegeta glanced up at that window, staring at it curiously for a minute, before shaking his head and going back to work. The gun was spotless, and he decided it was time to find something else to do until his eyes burned so badly he would sleep 'til morning. As he slipped inside he decided maybe visiting the library would do the trick.

So he sat in his usual spot, a comfy leather armchair pulled up to the long, oak table in the center of the room; the curtain was drawn in the window. He was quickly frustrated, though, shifting from leaning back crookedly, one heel on the edge of the seat and one arm resting on his knee to see the book to hunching over the table, scowling down at the pages in front of him. Tonight was a bad night.

_With ȿƃoo‖ turning out_ – no, no, that was _school_ – _morə ru₪ərs, jumpərs, racərs, tiЋərərs_ – no, _runners_, _tinkerers,_ damnit – _§raƥbərs, snaʇɔʯərs, fliərs, and_ – son of a bitch!

"This is infuriating!" Vegeta cried, standing suddenly and flinging the book at the shelves which lined the walls. He roared, slamming a fist down onto the polished wood surface. "It's not bad enough I'm only useful as a labrat; I'm fucking _illiterate_ as well!" After another feral howl, he spun, knocking the chair on its side with a massive impact. A hand flew into his hair as he paced a few steps. Something made his gaze snap to the door, and there _she_ was in all her immaculate, blue glory, as if things needed to be complicated further. Their gazes locked for a long time, until he looked away, ashamed. "How long have you been standing there?" he growled through his teeth.

"Long enough," Bulma replied softly. "You can't read?"

"Mind your own business," he snapped, hands balling into fists.

"Vegeta," she said exasperatedly. "You _are_ my business. As you said, labrat, remember?"

His eye twitched. "What do you want?"

"I want an honest answer: can you read?" He groaned. "Well?"

"No!" he shouted, pacing again. "Alright? No. I can't. Everything's a mess, I can't make sense of it half the time. Your father was right, and no matter what I do, I can't overcome it. Four months of scrutinizing and stumbling through pages have yielded nothing but headaches."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I may not have much," he started, standing still and locking eyes with her. "But I still have my pride." She wasn't sure what that meant and stayed silent. Vegeta half-leaned, half-sat against the table, hands over his face as he slouched further into himself. He looked very tired.

"You still should have been honest," Bulma chided. He didn't respond, and she came closer.

"Go away," he said gruffly, face still in his hands. "I've been humiliated enough. Now leave me alone." She opened her mouth, closed it, and then gently put a hand on his arm. He twisted it away, turning on her with burning and violent eyes. "_I said leave!_" Gasping, Bulma turned on her heel and raced out of the library. After a moment of solitude, Vegeta retired to his bedroom.

* * *

The next day had Bulma in her father's office. "I need the data concerning Vegeta."

Dr. Briefs gazed crookedly at his daughter. "Sure dear, but whatever for?"

"He can't read."

Dr. Briefs blinked at her. "Can't read?" She shook her head, and he frowned at the gizmo in front of him. "Well, that _is_ a problem. You go run that data, and I shall ponder this new predicament as best I can." Bulma nodded and dashed to her lab.

Four months of data stared up at her in scrawled shorthand. It was all taken by either Bulma or her father. A lot of it was illegible. Dr. Briefs had been so wrapped up in his spaceship and she had been so wrapped up in her grav-sim that neither had really bothered with Vegeta's case. He'd seemed to be making progress. He wasn't complaining of headaches anymore. He wasn't having trouble with hallucinations. His vision wasn't 20/20, but it was good enough for him to function without glasses. He wasn't going blind. He wasn't blacking out. These had all seemed like good things.

But Bulma's fingers raced over her keyboard, entering the data into their simulator program to see what was truly happening to the battered warrior. They needed to see where he was going, what would eventually happen to Vegeta's vision.

_ENTER_

Her jaw eased open, and she rested her head on her hand, propping her elbow on her desk. This was not good news, not good news at all.

"What's the matter?"

Bulma practically leapt out of her seat; Gohan sat across from her, back straight and hands gently clasping the arms of her black leather chair. He seemed startled and concerned. She swallowed. "I overheard Vegeta saying something last night, so I ran the data we have on him to see if his eyesight was still improving from Dad's operation." She turned the computer screen so Gohan could see the readout. His face slowly fell.

_6 months: Subject begins to notice brief spots of blurring, which correct independently. Some colors may be faded or unreliable._

_12 months: Subject now requires corrective lenses. Frequent pain. Some color blindness. *Head trauma from this point on may speed up degenerative process._

_18 months: Edge of vision begins to darken and encroach; "tunnel vision." Likely to induce seizures. _

_24 months: Legally blind. Subject now requires a cane. Seizures more frequent._

_30 months: Subject has lost sight entirely, though still victim of pain and occasional seizures. _

**OUTCOME: FAILURE**

Bulma's head was on her folded arms, collapsed over her desk. Gohan sat back heavily, staring at the screen. Poor Vegeta, all that work and he was still going to go blind. "I've got to fix it," the heiress mumbled. "I've got to." Gohan scowled in thought.

"How do you even know that it's right?" Bulma looked up, obviously confused. "I mean, it's only been maybe four months. What are the side effects at four months?"

She turned her screen around and began clacking furiously. "Failing depth perception, headaches, spots, questionable hand-eye coordination." She chewed on her lip.

"See? We don't even know if he's experiencing any of those. What even made you want to check on his progress?"

"He… said he was having trouble reading, like he couldn't recognize the letters. Dad said that might happen; I'm just glad it didn't happen with faces like we thought it would. Imagine a paranoid guy like Vegeta unable to recognize anyone around him." They both shuddered, then laughed at their responses. "But you're right, we don't know that he's experiencing any of these symptoms. I'd ask him, but he'd never answer me straight. His pride is just _overwhelming_." Gohan was nodding.

"Well, it's really all he's got left, Bulma. He can't even say 'at least I've got my health.' Maybe there's another way of testing his vision, something underhanded?"

Bulma sat back in her chair, staring at the spot on her ceiling that she usually stared at when she needed to think, running Vegeta's habits and mannerisms through her head. He mostly ate with chopsticks when he could, though more and more he seemed to be having trouble with the utensils and was starting to eat slower; maybe that was a sign of failing coordination. He was always grouchy and blamed it on headaches, but those had been frequent since he woke from his coma. Otherwise, he was training or hidden away in his room or the library, as if in solitary-confinement.

A grin spread over her face, and Gohan got a sinking feeling in his stomach. "I think I know a way," she said slowly, eyes rolling to meet his. "Gohan, I need you to do me a favor."

He was shaking his head. "Nuh-uh, no way, I am _not_ doing it."

"But you said yourself that we needed to help him."

"I said _you_ needed to help him, don't go dragging me into this!"

"Oh, c'mon Gohan! I can't use Krillin because he's not on Vegeta's level, and Goku's out of the question because, well, you know your brother." He was nodding. "So that leaves you."

"But I'll end up in the Infirmary!"

Bulma leaned forward, hands clasped and resting on her desk, face serious and set; it was the same position she'd adopted at board meetings with her father when the members wouldn't listen to her. "I'll give you three days' paid vacation if you do it this once."

He raised his eyebrows. "Th-Three days?"

She held up three slender fingers. "Three." Gohan swallowed thickly, staring at her fingers, thinking of all the things he could do with three paid days off. After a few moments he groaned, hung his head, and nodded in defeat. Bulma whooped in triumph.

* * *

Vegeta was warming up on the matt when Gohan walked in. The boy watched in silence for a while as the fighter ran through his kata slowly, gracefully, mostly with his eyes open and unfocused. Sometimes the man would pause briefly, squeeze his eyes shut, and run through a few motions in blindness. Finally, he stopped altogether. "What is it, boy? You're distracting me." Swallowing, he stammered, and Vegeta turned to him then with an impatient look. "Out with it!"

"I, I was wondering if we could, maybe, you know, spar or something." The elder only gave him a blank stare in return. "Goku said the best way to improve is through experience, and you make fun of me for being young and ignorant, so I figured-"

"Sure."

Gohan froze, sure that he'd heard wrong. "Huh?" Vegeta frowned.

"I said, 'sure.' You've got five minutes to stretch or whatever." So he did, and watched Vegeta the whole time. Bulma said to look for signs of pain or dizziness or anything out of the ordinary. The teen was nervous; there was a reason he hadn't sparred with the strange fighter. He was quick, smart, strong, and ruthless, all of which equaled very dangerous. He would have to be quick to block and even quicker to retaliate while being careful not to injure him. Bulma would kill him if he broke her prized project.

Vegeta was barefoot, clad in a grey sleeveless shirt and dark blue shorts, pacing back and forth across from Gohan; the boy swallowed and fell into his crouch, and the older warrior raised one heavy brow. "The hell is that?"

He blinked. "My…fighting stance?"

Nodding, Vegeta replied, "It's different. I had imagined your fighting techniques would mimic your brother's." Gohan shook his head.

"I was trained by a different _sensei_."

Vegeta grunted his response but did not follow suit. Instead, his legs remained roughly shoulder-width apart, his fists loosely clenched and raised slightly. _How arrogant,_ Gohan thought in wonder. _He doesn't even think I'm enough of a threat to put his heart into it._ Vegeta chuckled, as if reading his mind. "Come on, boy. Let's see what you're made of." Gohan dashed forward, faking a right punch and swung instead with his left.

Vegeta caught his fist in his massive hand easily, and only looked on in boredom. The adolescent pulled his hand back as he raised his right knee towards his opponent's ribs, but it was dodged and one solid fist slammed into the side of his leg. He gasped and hopped backwards. There was a smirk on the fighter's face. "I know you can fight better than that," he taunted, crossing his arms. "Are you afraid that the 'cripple' is going to hurt you?"

"No," Gohan replied through clenched teeth.

"Then attack me like you fucking mean it." He did, and Vegeta's eyes grew wide as he knocked a full-force attack to the side. "Full-contact, then," he grinned before he swung with his left, planting his fist into Gohan's liver. The boy stumbled, groaning, barely staying on his feet as he clenched his side. His opponent was a tactician, he reminded himself, so he'd have to out maneuver him, out think him, before he had a chance to do the same.

Vegeta was looking cocky and was attacking mercilessly. Gohan dodged the hard kicks as best he could with his damaged right leg, but he was slow and the impacts were beginning to take a toll on his forearms. The mercenary aimed high with a punch, and the boy ducked his head sideways to avoid it. Swiftly, Vegeta's leg came upwards, going for his head in the direction he'd moved, but the boy saw it and kneeled, feeling the wind brush his spikey black hair.

The elder was turning, his body in full-swing because of the momentum of the kick, and Gohan knew his back would be toward him soon. Adrenaline had control, had him standing as soon as the foot had gone by, had him twisting his damaged right leg up, had him slamming the ball of his foot into the side of Vegeta's head.

It was well-aimed, well-timed, and mostly well-controlled. It shouldn't have caused any damage.

But Vegeta was falling too his knees, his eyes bugging out of his skull, spittle flying from his lips. He landed heavily despite catching himself, and his hands immediately flew to his head. A strange choking/gasping sound was emitting from him, and now his eyes were clenched shut. When he didn't move to stand, panic set into Gohan's nerves, so he rushed to the man's side. "Vegeta!" he cried, touching his shoulder; the warrior didn't move away. "Are you okay? Oh man, I didn't think that'd hurt you! Crap, Bulma's gonna kill me. What's wrong? What can I do?"

One massive hand landed on his arm, gripped him tightly, painfully, and a raspy, strained voice demanded, "Bulma." Gohan nodded once and raced out of the training room, but not before grabbing his cell phone.

It rang twice, then, "_Hellooo?_"

"Bulma! Where are you?"

"_I'm…in my office,_" she replied hesitantly. "_What's wrong?_"

"Vegeta's hurt."

"_Where are you?_"

"I'm headed in your direction."

"_I'll meet you at the foot of the stairs,_" and she hung up. He only had to wait a moment, but soon his ears picked up the sound of pounding feet. Bulma didn't stop when she hit the landing, only took off in a full-on sprint, her long legs stretching far ahead of her and white coat billowing out behind. Gohan easily kept pace with her limping run.

Vegeta hadn't really moved by the time they got back to him. Instead of curled over, his legs were stretched in front of him, but he was still on the ground and still clutched his head. Bulma ran to his right side, the side of his head he seemed to be favoring. "About time," he grumbled as she pulled his hand away from his scalp; the scientist ignored him and instead checked for any cuts or bruises. She didn't find either.

"What's wrong?" Bulma demanded.

His voice was softer than normal, more airy, but with no less hostility as he replied, "My head _hurts_."

She rolled her eyes. "Where does it hurt?" He spread his hand over the back, right-hand side of his head.

"Inside of my skull."

"Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk, woman, don't be stupid."

"Good, because I need to get you to the lab so I can see what's wrong."

He nodded and slowly moved to a kneeling position, grimacing all the way. His teeth were bared as he pushed himself to his feet and he stumbled when he got there; Gohan caught him to his left. Vegeta shook the boy off and tried to make it to the door, but he was slow going and his balance didn't seem to be coming back to him. Eventually, his left hand came groping out to the side, found the teenager's shoulder, and held tight. Bulma bit her lip and followed silently. Thankfully, the Industrial Building was mostly vacant of workers by now, so no one saw the great warrior have to be guided around by the boy that had cause him such injury. Gohan led him to the chair in the lab Bulma had brought them too, and he fell heavily into it.

"Gohan," Bulma said. "I need you to go into the lab upstairs, 219-B, okay? There's a big green panel off to the side and a control pad beside it. Turn it on with the control pad, stand on the X on the floor, and hit the green panel exactly how you hit Vegeta. Do it exactly right ten times. Write down the number the control pad reads out, take an average, then come back and tell me what it was. I need to know what kind of force you hit him with." The boy nodded and raced off as quickly as he could. Bulma shook her head and turned to face the man in front of her.

"I don't see why you need that," Vegeta interjected while she searched for a flashlight in the nearby drawers. "Can't you just take a CT scan and inspect the damage?"

She was nodding and coming back to him. "I could. But I didn't want him in the room when I discover what's wrong. He doesn't need that kind of guilt."

He said nothing as Bulma held up the flashlight; he knew the routine, and followed the end as she moved it side to side, up and down, forward and backwards. One pale hand then cupped his jaw gently, tilted it back, while the other clicked the light on and shined it into his left eye. The pupil didn't constrict, only stared up into the light uncaringly. She frowned, shined the light in his other eye. Right before he blinked and flinched away minutely, she saw the pupil constrict. The beam roved back to his other eye, moved in and out of his line of sight repeatedly. No reaction.

"Oh, no," she whispered, and he pulled back slightly.

"Nothing," Vegeta said with a soft voice. "I hit the ground and my head felt like it was going to explode. When I opened my eyes, this one-" he waved his left hand in front of his eye, "-was dark. I can't see anything out of it."

Bulma rubbed a hand over her face and said, more to herself than to Vegeta, "This just keeps getting worse and worse."

He turned his head slightly. "What was that?"

"Nothing."

He stood, shakily, unsteadily. "What did you just say?" he asked with more force.

_Might as well get it over with._ "The procedure…didn't go as well as we'd hoped." His eyebrows rose, expecting more. "We didn't expect your vision to come back entirely, that would've been outlandish, even by our standards, but we weren't expecting it to, well, _degenerate_."

It was a moment before he said anything. "So, what you're saying is that I'm blind in one eye and going blind in the other? Is that about right?" She nodded. He asked, "How long?"

"Three years at the most."

He didn't deflate like she'd expected. He didn't hang his head in defeat. He didn't sit back down. "I thought you said you'd fixed it?!" he roared.

"I thought we had! I didn't realize anything was wrong until-"

"You stupid wench! Why have I been going through your daily tests and examinations if you haven't been collecting information and data? Isn't the point of it all supposed to be evidence of the success or failure of the operation?"

"We saw an improvement, Vegeta. I didn't think I needed to read into the data immediately, we were only in the gathering stages of the experiment. If you had told me about your Dyslexia, then I-"

"Do _not_ try to play it off like your failure to observe is my fault. My inability to read has nothing to do with my vision decaying. It is a side-effect to having a _bullet_ ricochet in my goddamn _head_."

Damn, she hated when he was right. She'd been lazy, distracted by her grav-sim and Yamcha, and now Vegeta would suffer the consequences. Oops.

"You _will_ fix it," he growled, his voice low with promises of pain. "And you will restore vision to my deadened eye. And, by the way, how did a kick, which shouldn't even have caused a bruise, cause this kind of damage?"

Bulma swallowed, fiddled with her flashlight, mumbled something under her breath. He advanced. "A shift in the fragmentation," she repeated, louder. "One of the bullet fragments must have been jostled around too much and caused even more damage."

His face fell into incredulity. "I still have pieces of the bullet in my skull?" She nodded. Vegeta spun on his heel, his hands reaching up to fist his hair, and Bulma thought she heard him whispering _ichi, ni, san, shi_… Finally, he breathed deeply, turned back to her, and spat venomously, "Is there anything else you ought to tell me, woman?" Bulma shook her head. He grunted and stormed out, and she sank into the chair.


	7. Decay

**A/N: I am so, so very sorry this took so long to get out, guys. Thank you everyone who reviewed last chapter, especially those of you complaining about Yamcha being a waste of a storyline. Really, he's not; we see what we don't want to see, so once we finally get what we've been waiting for, it's that much better. So, on that note, enjoy the chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

* * *

**Decay**

Despite his unquenchable desire to continue leaving Capsule Corp, Nappa's warning haunted him, and Vegeta understood that he was confined to the compound if he wanted to survive a little longer. Truth be told, he wanted to face Frieza and his minions _now_, but he wasn't ready. With his left eye blind and his right not far behind, he was in no shape for a stand-off. He'd simply have to keep biding his time. He trained alone for hours, locking himself away and practicing with his bo and kata; sparring sessions had all but ceased for the time being. Goku asked if he'd done something to offend him and didn't think Vegeta was telling the truth when he answered, "I just want to be alone."

His interactions with the woman had more or less come to a dead halt. Every time he saw her, anger blossomed in his chest and shame settled on her features so completely that he barely recognized her. Once, as he left the kitchen table, he heard Mrs. Briefs asking her daughter if they'd had another spat. The answer was so soft he didn't catch what she said, choosing instead to vanish into his room.

It didn't escape his notice that the woman had begun to spend huge blocks of time in her lab. Sometimes she would skip dinner and only come stumbling back into the living area late into the night, rubbing her face and running her fingers tiredly through her hair. On occasion, Vegeta would hear her voice carrying down the hallway, and if he was bored and restless enough, he'd sneak closer to eavesdrop. It was almost always Yamcha, calling from some place or another to exchange a few words. Inevitably, their conversation would taper off and Bulma would say how tired she was and that she wanted to go to sleep, and Vegeta would creep back to his room.

He was beginning to feel very claustrophobic in the large compound, but when his anxiety began to overwhelm him, he would take a deep breath and think, _just a little longer, just a little longer_.

* * *

Chi-Chi was back in town and had "convinced" Bulma to give Goku the afternoon off to spend time with her. It hadn't taken much, Goku realized, because Bulma had been flustered and distracted by the mounds of books, papers, and gadgets scattered across her desk; she simply waved her off with a 'sure, whatever.' The bags under her eyes were starting to turn purple. But she'd said to leave her alone on more than one occasion, and Goku wasn't going to cross her. He had enough to deal with regarding Chi-Chi.

They were at a café of sorts, eating lunch. The portions weren't big enough for his liking, but Chi seemed to be enjoying herself, so he tried to keep his complaints to himself. She was talking about what she'd been doing with her father, something boring that he wasn't interested in at all. However, she was smiling, and he liked when she smiled, so he nodded and hummed at what he hoped was the appropriate places and tried not to get distracted by little things like the TVs in the corners.

"How were things while I was gone?" she asked suddenly, resting her chin on her knuckles and smiling at him. "Anything interesting happen?"

Goku shrugged. "Not much. Vegeta threw Yamcha, and Bulma almost kicked him out. That's about it."

Chi-Chi gaped at him. "That asshole! What the hell did he do that for?"

"In all fairness, Yamcha _did_ try to sucker-punch him."

She scoffed. "I'm sure he deserved it."

He shrugged again. "Probably, but that doesn't give Yamcha the right to hit him." Chi-Chi looked at the table, reluctant to agree with him on the topic, but decided to drop it anyway because they were having a nice time and she didn't want to start arguing over Vegeta. "Oh," Goku added, "-and Gohan said he thinks he gave Vegeta a concussion."

"H-how? Gohan's so gentle."

Goku shrugged. "I dunno. He just said he kicked him in the head and he collapsed. Couldn't even walk straight. Maybe it has something to do with being shot."

Chi-Chi nodded distantly, still caught up in poor Gohan dealing with the guilt of injuring another person. Poor kid."Yamcha left a few weeks ago, right?" she asked, though she was still distracted.

"Yep. Bulma's been spending a lot of time in her lab since then. Hardly says a word to anyone. I think they stay in touch though."

Chi-Chi didn't respond. Goku waited another minute or two, chewing on the last of his sandwich, but when she still hadn't said anything, he looked up.

And wished he hadn't.

There, on one of the screens, was Yamcha, parading around with a pretty blonde on his arm and shoving one massive hand in the cameras. Chi-Chi looked defeated and angry at the same time. Goku just groaned.

* * *

Chi-Chi sighed, again. Of course, someone _had_ to tell Bulma, and as the best friend, it _had_ to be her. The mere thought of conveying the news had sent Goku into a pale-faced panic and Krillin running for the hills. Gohan had been lucky enough to be "out shopping" with Mrs. Briefs, if one could call that lucky. She had briefly considered asking that awful Vegeta to be the bearer of bad news, but with his reported attitude, she figured he would take a little too much pleasure in the action and would only add insult to injury. Thus, it was left to her.

Bulma took it about as well as they expected.

"He did what?!"

It had become a guessing game as to what the heiress would express next. She bounced from indignation to defeat to sadness to rage faster than a bullet ricocheting in a steel box. The coffee table in the living room was littered with tissues, chocolates, shredded pictures, a wine bottle, and a laptop with a screen paused on Yamcha and his pretty little blonde. Bulma was curled up in a corner of the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest and sniffling at her feet. Chi-Chi sat awkwardly beside her, one hand on her friend's knee. Something moved in her periphery, so she turned. Goku stood in front of the staircase, blocking somebody's way.

"I'll be right back," she said and Bulma nodded dumbly. The princess padded over to the commotion.

"Damnit, Kakarot, get out of my way," said a gruff voice and she barely held back a groan. _Great_.

"You can't come in here right now," Goku argued, not giving an inch. Chi-Chi came in and put her hands on one of his arms.

"Now isn't a good time, Vegeta," she said in what she hoped was a stern voice. The flame-haired man frowned at her.

"I don't care," he snapped. "Let me through before I knock both of you over."

"Bulma's really upset right now," Goku tried to reason. Vegeta scoffed.

"As if I care." He took a step forward, then back when he realized his rationing hadn't worked. "For God's sake, _move_."

"Vegeta, she's going through some drama with Yamcha, so now is _really _not a good time-"

A sob echoed through the room and caught their attention. While the two on the landing turned their heads to find the source, Vegeta braved a peek around the wall to see what the hell they were talking about. Bulma hid her face in her hostage pillow and her shoulders rose and fell erratically with her crying. Occasionally she made a sound akin to a bat. Stricken, he stood up straight and the others' gazes followed him. The men made eye contact for a moment, and then Vegeta nodded.

"Yes. Not the time. Later," he said, turning on his heel and hopping back up the stairs. Chi-Chi breathed a sigh of relief, the first in a while. One hurdle down.

* * *

He found her in the living room later, a pathetic sight indeed. She sat in that same corner of the couch with a maroon afghan thrown over her shoulders and tucked around her arms. Her hair was an untidy bun, which wobbled comically as she typed furiously on her computer. He raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms, and strolled casually into the room; Bulma didn't seem to notice and her friends had gone about an hour ago to let her suffer in peace.

"How close are you to completing the process for my eyes?" he demanded.

He thought he heard her growl. "Now is _not_ the time, Vegeta."

His eyes narrowed into slits. "Not the time?"

Her eyes shot up, flaring with a rage so complete the man wondered what he could have done to piss her off so much. "No, it's not the time. I do not have the patience or the desire to put up with you right now."

"I don't give a damn about your patience or desire, woman," Vegeta said, his voice rising. "In case you don't remember, I have a limited amount of time before my eyes are beyond repair. I don't have time for your patience."

"Look, I've already had my share of assholes today, so go find somebody else to harass while I deal with this."

Vegeta stepped closer to her, as she'd returned to her rabid typing, and struggled to read what she was writing. Most of the words came out as gibberish, but he caught the words 'Yamcha,' 'dick,' and 'over.' He could have screamed. He did scream, "You're putting off your work because of that weakling?"

Bulma rolled her eyes and rounded on him, causing the afghan to fly off her shoulders. "Yes, I am, now will you stop being a nosy prick and go away?"

His glare hardened, and he did his best to keep his voice low, calm, and steady. "Since when have long-established trust issues taken priority over breakthrough research?"

The heiress blinked. He had a point. Bulma loved to immerse herself in her work, and she was letting that idiot Yamcha dominate her thoughts, which should be focused on math, physics, gravity simulators, capsules, and neuro-stimulators. Besides, focusing on Vegeta and his health would be the perfect response to Yamcha. Her laptop snapped shut, and she faced Vegeta with squared shoulders and a set jaw.

"You're right," she said. "I can't let that _idiot_ distract me." She left, walking purposefully down to the labs, leaving him in stunned silence.

* * *

The air was cool that night, something Vegeta reveled in; he had grown tired of the humid West City nights. They seemed to drag on, like autumn would never offer a reprieve, but finally the balcony's marble balustrade was cool to the touch. Winter would be coming soon, but winter in West City was a joke, so he wasn't worried. He would enjoy the mild temperatures and the crystal cold nights like any other man; Frieza would not impede on that small joy.

A small sound to his left made him whirl. At night, he forgot his left eye was blind; the dark and the shadows hid everything from anyone, so it made little difference how little one eye could see. Except now, just beyond his field of vision, something moved. His body immediately coiled into a fighting stance, prepared to retaliate, but it was unnecessary. He felt his eyes widen.

The left table, hidden in shadow, was occupied by a slim figure whose small feet were propped on the surface. Several unidentifiable things littered the top, and curiosity led him closer to inspect; there were a few glass bottles, a shot glass, a cup, and a crushed cigarette pack. The occupant shook their hair, and Vegeta thought he could hear her smile.

"Hello, Vegeta," she said, a little too chipper. "Would you like to join me?" He raised an eyebrow at her, lifted one of the glass bottles, and upended it. Four red drops splattered on the white marble. He stared at it. "I've had a long evening," Bulma explained. He nodded as he sat in the chair on her left so he could see her.

"Didn't your mother buy this…_earlier today_?" She nodded; she seemed almost proud of herself. A glance at the bottle assortment revealed a half-empty bottle of tequila and another drained of wine. "Good god, Woman. That's impressive, even for you."

"Oh, shut the hell up," she snapped, suddenly hostile. "Don't act like you haven't done worse." He blinked at the table; the woman got weird when she was drunk. The bottle in his hand clinked as he returned it to its alcoholic squad.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment of silence. "For earlier, I mean. You were right; I shouldn't let that dick get in the way of my work. It's more important than him." She took a swig from a bottle in her hand, and he felt his eyebrows rise again. Bulma saw him looking at her and asked, "Want one?" He nodded and she reached to the ground on her other side. It was beer, warm and damp, but Vegeta figured he needed a drink to handle this new phenomenon.

"You know why I'm drinking, 'Geta?" He shook his head as he twisted the cap off. "Because I'm upset. For a number of reasons. First is Yamcha. He's a prick, walking around with some skank-whore. Endorsement my ass!" She upended her beer and finished it off, before slamming it down so hard on the table Vegeta thought the glass top might break. Another was in her hand before she continued. "Second is you. You're an asshole, Vegeta, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Frequently."

"Well, obviously not enough. Maybe I should make a habit of it."

"And why, pray tell, are you insulting me now?"

"Because you can't help but stick your big fucking nose where it doesn't fucking belong!" He was amazed by the fire in her gaze; if looks could kill, Vegeta was sure his head would have exploded. "I was _fine_ with Yamcha. I _loved_ Yamcha. We've been together for eleven years. Eleven! I was going to marry him! And then _you_ show up and start saying shit you have no business saying. I am the smartest, prettiest, wealthiest woman in the world. I can have whatever man I want: a prince, a millionaire, an entrepreneur… But I wanted Yamcha."

She went to take a drink of her warm beer and Vegeta took the opportunity to retaliate. She must have seen him opening his mouth in her peripheral vision, because one hand shot up and she hurried to swallow. "Nuh-uh, I'm not done! You just sit there and shut up." Irritated and only the slightest bit curious, he did as he was told. "Yamcha and I, we had our ups and downs, just like any relationship. We were like two planets orbiting the same star. I was going clockwise, and he was going counter-clockwise. We came together and fell apart. Together, apart. But I was never worried, because our orbits always brought us back together. And then _you_ show up. And who the fuck are you? _You're nobody_. You're a corpse I brought in from the street. And you start talking like you know every goddamn thing in the universe. Mister Know-It-All. You have no right to talk down to me, no right to say anything against me or my decisions. My relationship with Yamcha has nothing to do with you. I was happy! I loved him! _I loved him!_"

There was a moment of total silence, eventually broken by:

"I'm the smartest, prettiest, wealthiest woman in the world." She stared vacantly at the city lights. Vegeta almost rolled his eyes in impatience, but a misplaced light made him stop. A single tear trickled down the cheek of Bulma Briefs. "I'm the smartest woman in the world, and it took a blind man with brain damage to point out the flaws of my relationship..." She took a shuddering breath. "To show me that my star was dying."

Vegeta stared at her in unveiled shock. He'd incited tears not with violence, threats, lies, or bloodletting, but a simple observation. He was baffled, mostly because he briefly found himself wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. He _was_ nobody, with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and the bullet in his head. But she'd needed the truth. She deserved better.

He shook his head quickly; nobody? Bullshit. He wasn't a nobody, and one of these days, he'd show this prissy bitch who he really was. But his anger faded before it really had the chance to set in; he was finding it hard to rage at a woman in tears that wasn't begging for her life.

This emotional rollercoaster had his head spinning and confused.

The woman got _weird_ when she was drunk.

Bulma wiped half-heartedly at her face and he watched her features display a variety of emotions, first sorrow, then determination, then a calm acceptance. "Sorry for talking your ear off," she said as she offered him a smile. Her hands wiped at her face when she realized her tears were drying on her skin. "This is kind of why I drink alone."

He nodded, and noted the smirk on her face. "What?"

"That's it?" she asked. "No biting comment, no sarcasm, no demeaning remark?"

Vegeta shrugged. "Nothing you've said seems to deserve that kind of reaction, woman." The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "But, if you really _want_ me to-"

She cut him off by laughing and shaking her head. "No, no, this is fine."

When the conversation tapered back to silence, Vegeta busied himself with his warm beer. It had been sitting outside for so long that the bottle wasn't even sweating anymore. She must've been camping out on the balcony once she left her lab, he realized. He glanced in her direction, and she was stretching, hands over her head and shirt lifting to reveal her midriff.

"Well," she said through a yawn. "I think… I'm gonna go to bed. You should consider doing the same."

He shook his head as she stood. "I'm not tired."

Bulma looked at him the way you might at a puppy that just fell down the stairs. "Your insomnia's really bad, huh?"

He shrugged. She'd noticed?

She made a face, but remained silent, opting instead to gather her herd of glass bottles. She managed to tuck a few into her arms, but one false move almost sent the drained tequila bottle to shatter on the ground. Vegeta's hand shot out and caught it before it did, and Bulma sighed in relief. "Thanks." He nodded, restraining laughter, and silently helped her gather the rest of the trash.

"You know," she said quietly as he followed her into the kitchen. "You can be pretty nice when you want to be."

"Hn," was the only reply he offered. She dumped her bottles in the trash can and as he did the same, he heard her stumble to his left. His arm, luckily empty, reached out, wrapped around her, and pulled her tiny frame against him. Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Clumsy woman."

Bulma giggled. "Okay, Vegeta, this one's free, but the next one's gonna cost you."

"What?" He turned his head completely to face her; his eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he realized one hand was planted firmly on her rear end. He quickly stepped back and looked away. Bulma's laughing came a little louder.

"Are you blushing?" He tried to glare at her, but with her on his left, he wasn't really sure where to direct his gaze. "Oh my god, Mr. Badass is a prude, I don't believe it."

"Shut the hell up," Vegeta snapped, turning to leave. Her little hands grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Oh, I'm just messing with you." She smiled up at his disbelieving scowl. "Don't be so sensitive." They stared at each other a minute, he trying to get her to back down while she wavered on her feet. Inside was darker than the balcony had been, but his good eye could still see well enough to watch her sway. He shook his head.

"You're drunk," he stated. Bulma nodded.

"I've cried, ranted, almost broke stuff, almost fell, _and_ you grabbed my butt." She erupted into giggles. "I'm drunk. I think sleep sounds like a good plan. Gravity won't hurt me when I'm on my bed."

"I don't think you should discount it," he said, a smirk toying with his face. "You're very accident prone."

She nodded and had to lean on his arm for support. "Oh god, I have to go up_stairs_." She took on a pleading look. "Vegeta, would you be a gentleman and help an intoxicated lady up to her room?"

He nodded slowly, reluctantly, and headed in the direction of the stairs while Bulma clung to him for balance. She made the first few steps but he could feel her faltering. Almost half-way, her foot slipped and she almost fell, laughing the whole time. He rolled his eyes, wrapped the arm she was holding onto around her waist, and with a little leverage, pulled her onto his shoulder. She squealed.

"Vegeta!" she cried as she flailed; her efforts were rewarded with a low chuckle she felt more than heard. "Put me down!"

"I will," he assured. "Once you're not going roll down the stairs."

But he kept walking even when they reached the landing. He passed his room, the spare room, the library. Her room was on the left. The door opened with a soft creak and whisper as it brushed and caught against something on the floor. A lamp was left on by her bed, luckily.

Then Vegeta made the mistake of looking down.

"Good lord, woman, don't you ever _clean_?"

"You should know that a messy room is a sign of genius."

He crossed to her bed in three strides and tossed her onto the mattress. "And leprosy." She looked like she was going to retaliate, but the insult struck her as hilarious and she instead fell back laughing. Vegeta shook his head.

Bulma gave him a Cheshire smile. "Thanks for delivering me safely to my room. And uh," she nibbled on her lip. "For putting up with me. You know. Rambling."

He nodded once and turned off the light on his way out.

* * *

There was a pounding headache waiting for her on her pillow the next morning, humility in her bathroom mirror, and shame as the memory of the night before set in. Bulma sat on her bed, head in her hands, trying to forget that she had spilled her guts to a man that seemed to hate her. On top of that, today was a test day, and Bulma had taken complete responsibility for the data collecting.

Already two hours behind schedule, Bulma trudged down to the industrial building. Vegeta would be in the gym they had made for him when he woke from his coma. He spent most of his days in there, she thought with dismay, and was only proved correct when she reached her destination. Through the plated observation glass, blue eyes followed his fluid movements as he pummeled the punching bag in the corner. He wasn't wearing a shirt and didn't seem to be paying attention to anything outside of that bag. The bag seemed to bend in half, to cough when it returned to its position, and to whine each time it was attacked again.

She sighed; he wouldn't be happy about being interrupted. The door slid open with a click and a hiss, and Vegeta briefly hesitated. After a few more assaults, he stopped and turned to face her. She expected to see distaste or irritation or condescension in his eyes.

He just looked bored.

"Good morning, Vegeta," she greeted, her voice croaking slightly.

"Hn," he returned, approaching. "Imbibe a little more than you thought?" Frowning, Bulma lifted her gaze, intent on snapping at him, but she didn't. The corner of his mouth was titled upward _ever so slightly_, so little that if she wasn't so accustomed to his usual scowl, he wouldn't look any different. He was messing with her.

Her head bobbed. "Yeah, guess I did. But I thought I followed that rule, you know? The rhyming one, but now I can't remember it, so I'm not so sure I did."

"Liquor before beer," Vegeta said, wiping a towel over his face.

"Next time, I'll be sure to follow that."

"Next time you feel like drinking yourself into oblivion," he started, and Bulma looked at him. "Invite me."

His face shifted from stern to smirking, and she let out a relieved laugh. "Sure thing, Vegeta."

As they left for one of the ground-floor labs to do the usual run through of his eyes and neural scan, Bulma felt lighter on her feet despite her hangover. They were back on conversational terms. He was back to harassing her, joking with her, rather than attacking every little thing she did. She felt like she'd just won an impossible chess game, like she'd just won a race against an Olympic runner, and no hangover could beat that.

* * *

Bulma was helping her mother fill the dishwasher. Goku was up on Fire Mountain with Chi-Chi and Gyu Mao, her father, Krillin was on a date with a young woman named Maron, and Gohan was…well, Bulma wasn't quite sure where he was, but he'd been quick to leave dinner, and only on the heels of Vegeta. Her father was in the living room, or the parlor as her mother called it, entertaining a few of Capsule Corps' board members.

"Darling," her mother said. "Why don't you run upstairs and put on the cute pink dress you bought the other week? You'd look so sweet at your Daddy's party in that little get-up."

Frowning, Bulma replied, "Mama, I don't know that I want to be there. The board members are just so old and so _boring_."

"Oh, baby, you need to get used to them." She smiled her squinty smile. "One of these days, you'll be the head of the business, and you'll be entertaining the guests, instead of Daddy."

"I know, but that's still several years off."

Her mother bobbed her head a few times, handing her daughter a plate and two glasses to place into the machine. "Well dear, it's your decision. What will you do instead?" She shrugged off the question and finished the job of helping her mother.

On her way up stairs, still debating with herself over joining her father downstairs, Bulma paused just outside of Vegeta's room, the second door to pass after the landing. Shaking her head, she kept walking, thought otherwise, and turned back. Twice she thought of disturbing him and twice she changed her mind, pacing back and forth from the stairs to her room and her room to the stairs. Eventually, she stopped, staring at the carpet and running her fingers through her hair. He didn't mean it, she told herself. He was just being a smartass. She didn't want to put herself in this situation.

"Well?" said a gruff voice, making her jump out of her reverie. Bulma stared wide-eyed at Vegeta, who leaned against his door frame with his arms crossed over his shirtless chest. "Are you going to knock or aren't you?"

Bulma stammered, "Uh, well, my dad's having a party downstairs and I, uh, mom suggested, and I…" She sighed when he raised one dark brow and smirked. When she looked up, she smiled in a defeated way and held up her hands. "I have a bottle of sake and I was wondering if you were interested."

He pulled a face and stared at the wall before disappearing wordlessly into his room. Bulma almost felt let down, until she noticed he'd left his door open. One step forward, two, and the warrior was emerging again, pulling a sleeveless grey t-shirt over his head. She almost pouted, but he held out his hand, motioning for her to lead the way, so she did.

…

He had a barking laugh that wasn't too unpleasant, and three small glasses of what he corrected her in calling '_nihonshu_' later, Bulma was feeling the full onslaught of his amusement. Vegeta threw his head back when he laughed, his chest convulsed, and the scientist was grinning herself. It was a sound she could get used to.

"And then, and then," she continued, giggling behind her own cup of alcohol, "We're midway through West City, I'm driving, and I hear Krillin in the backseat, 'No, Goku, that's a _guy_.'"

Vegeta laughed harder, setting down his empty cup so he wouldn't drop and break it. He twisted his hand in a manner to say, 'go on.'

"And then Goku, Goku says, 'Wow, Krillin, you can tell just by looking?'"

His body flung backwards against the back of his chair as he howled. Bulma marveled that he actually seemed to go 'HA HA HA' as he laughed. He ran one calloused thumb beneath his eye, wiping away a stray tear. "Why, the Hell, did you bring him along?"

She shrugged, watching him calm down and pour more nihonshu into his cup. "Well, I couldn't just leave them up in the mountains. Gohan was so young, and Goku was so clueless. I would have been abandoning them, and Grandpa Gohan had wanted Gohan to study and the best place for that would have been here; I couldn't leave them there in good conscience."

He twitched his eyebrows upward as he sipped from his cup. "You are kinder than I am."

Bulma scowled. "You mean you would have left them, a twelve year old boy and his four year old little brother, up in the mountains?"

"I was seventeen then," he said quietly, lips close to the light blue porcelain. Those black eyes stared at something, but Bulma was sure she couldn't see what it was. "I was dealing with much worse things than orphanage then."

She blinked. "Wait. Seventeen?" His head bobbed, his hair shifting with the motion. "You're only two years older than me?"

He gave her an incredulous look, marred only by his playful grin. "Did you think I was in my forties?"

"W-Well, no, but…" Shrugging, she took a sip of her nihonshu to gather her thoughts. "Isn't thirty a little… I dunno, _old_ to be in the fighting scene?"

The frown on his face simultaneously told her she'd said something wrong and that she was right. "Age has nothing to do with it," he snarled, though quietly. "Competence is based on skill and success."

"Alright, alright," she replied, hands up. "No offense meant. It was just a question."

They sat in silence for a while, she on her bed with her legs folded beneath her, he on a wooden chair she'd brought from the library. The window was open, but Vegeta had been quick to pull the curtains closed. Bulma had shoved the mess on her floor under her bed as he walked in and didn't miss the smirk he'd worn as a result. In the quiet now, he pulled the curtain aside and peeked into the night, his face void of expression. Bulma watched in interest.

"Hey Vegeta?"

"Hn."

"I was wondering…" When she trailed off, he looked up, waiting impatiently for her to go on. "Why did you say something? About Yamcha and me? What…what did it matter to you?"

He clenched his jaw and stared at his sake. Bulma was sure he wasn't going to answer, wasn't expecting an answer at all, really, but the alcohol had loosened her tongue and her curiosity was insatiable.

"You said it yourself," Vegeta said a few minutes later. "You're a beautiful, intelligent, wealthy woman, and a kind one at that, which you have proved by taking in an unconscious and dying man. But," he started to swirl the contents of his cup, and his unforgiving gaze met her own surprised one. "You are a pathetic creature indeed if it takes things such as diamonds and jewelry, rather than actions, to prove a man's worth to you, and I have quite the distaste for petty _bakayaro_ like that."

She didn't know what a _bakayaro_ was, but she had a pretty good idea, and dropped her gaze. He went back to sipping his alcohol and looking out of the curtains. Bulma wondered what he was watching so intently, or maybe what he was looking for.

Vegeta wasn't paying attention and actually jumped when a small white hand was placed on his arm. He stared at her a moment as his vision wavered, blinking a few times to try and steady himself, but it didn't work, so he settled for gruffly asking, "_Nanda yo_?" He shook his head. "No, wrong. What is it?" Bulma stifled a giggle.

"What was that?"

A patch of crimson crept over his cheeks. "Sake tends to make my tongue slip."

"I didn't think you'd had _that_ much to drink."

A grin spread across his face and he tossed back the last of his drink in one swallow. "I'll have you know, I can hold my alcohol very well." He cleared his throat and placed his glass on the windowsill. "You haven't answered my question."

It was Bulma's turn to blush, and she shrugged. "I dunno," she slurred. "I guess you just looked lonely, all the way over here."

Attempting a glare, his eyes narrowed to slits, but it was obviously not the threatening look he was going for because the woman only smiled back. Her hair moved in a breeze that came through the window and shifted around her face, mesmerizing him. It looked impossibly light, especially with that color, and he briefly wondered if it would feel like woven air. A strange thought, he knew, but despite his claim the sake really had taken its toll. Without being fully aware of it, Vegeta reached out and ran his fingers through her hair. She didn't jump away. She didn't even flinch.

_She's not afraid of me._

It was a strange feeling, new and not altogether disagreeable. He wanted to ask her why, but his mind said that conversation wouldn't end well, so he abandoned the thought.

But her eyes matched her hair perfectly and her ivory skin contrasted so completely against his olive-toned hand. She seemed to glow next to him.

He realized then he was lonely, very much so. Raditz was dead and Nappa was more or less off-limits and he didn't have any friends, family, or romantic interests, not even a damn _job_ any more. He had been alienated so completely for so long, he hadn't even noticed it, and suddenly Vegeta understood why Frieza had been kind enough to leave him a bullet.

She was very close to him, when did she get that close? When did her cheeks get so flushed? It had been a very long time since he'd lain with a woman, he thought regretfully, far longer than he cared to admit. He didn't care, didn't care that he was drunk or that she had a man, didn't care that he would probably wake up with a pounding headache and a year's worth of regret. He was very alone, and maybe the Woman was, too.

Before he had time to think better of it, his lips came crashing down to hers; he could taste the nihonshu on her soft mouth as it pressed against his. Cold hands traced up his shoulders, around his neck, and elicited a shiver. She was too far away, he wanted her closer, and without thinking pulled her onto his lap to better hold on. The alcohol made his head dizzy, like he was about to fall out of his chair, but Bulma was a good anchor, soft and inviting and _everywhere_. He pawed at her blouse and accidentally popped a button; she pulled away to inspect the damage, but instead of yelling at him as he expected, she threw her arms around him and ravaged his mouth with fervor. Though surprised, he responded in kind.

Okay, so she wanted to play a little rough. He would oblige.

While one hand tugged at the last button (popping off that one, as well) the other slid underneath the fabric to cup her breast. She hummed her approval and he pulled away to bite playfully at her neck. Her hips were rocking against his, and her jeans were painful against his groin, but it wasn't so bad, only served to make him wild.

He was on his feet – the hell happened to the chair? oh well – there was that glowing skin below him, beckoning from the bedspread. What happened to her shirt? Or his? It didn't matter. Easily lifting her off the bed, one hand dove behind her to unclasp that loathsome bra and she tossed it away. One hand roved over her flat stomach, admiring how soft she felt, as he flicked his tongue across one pink nipple. She arched her back and he bit gently; she moaned and he did it again, harder. Her hands were fluttering at his hips, his thighs, doing something; he couldn't tell what, didn't care, he was too distracted by how her skin tasted and

_Oh sweet god_ her hands really were _everywhere_ and he couldn't help the moan of pleasure that escaped him. For a brief moment, he was incapacitated and could do nothing grip her bedspread tight and try to breathe. But his vision was clearing and – where the hell did her pants go? – there was nothing separating her from him and he was _not_ a patient man, so he held onto her hip with one hand and nudged her thighs apart with his knee, and for a second he was so worried she would come to her senses and tell him no, this was wrong, stop, because he didn't think he _could_ stop, not now. She entangled her legs with his and her hands were pulling his back down and her red lips were whispering something, and his mind quieted.

Never mind the bullet.

.

Bulma was moaning and mewling beneath him, big blue eyes staring up at him. Pleased with the sounds he could make her emit, he started to thrust faster. Her eyes got bigger, but something was wrong. Looking closer, he realized he was on his knees, still in her, but his hands were around her throat, squeezing. He tried to stop as the beauty started clawing at his face and arms, as her lips started to turn blue, but his body wouldn't. His voice said to her, '_you wanted it rough,'_ and her thrashing was amazing, but her eyes were wrong, and they were rolling back in her head and he was _so close_

His eyes shot open and he exhaled softly. Inhale, exhale. Breathe slow, Vegeta. It was just a dream. But the panic didn't fade, because his room didn't look right, the windows were in the wrong place. He concluded he wasn't in his room, but where the hell was he? His eye landed on a messy dresser, littered with things he didn't recognize; a thin strip of pale, grey light illuminated a liquor bottle and a blue porcelain cup beside.

Vegeta stilled and listened hard to the even breathing and constant warmth beside him. Slowly, he turned his head. Bulma lay facing him, curled slightly on her side, one hand close to his shoulder. Her vivid hair was splayed across the pillow and a bit of drool seemed to be attempting escape from her open mouth. He stared for what felt like a long time.

At last, a sigh escaped his lips. Dizzy and aching, he sat slowly up and rubbed his face with his hand – which smelled like her. In the gloom, he found and pulled on his shorts and tried to creep to the door.

He wanted to say he was leaving the night behind. He wanted to say it was a mistake. He wanted to say it had been the alcohol, nothing more.

In truth, he needed a shower. He needed to think.

* * *

**A/N: Know what Vegeta's thinking about? Your reviews.**

**Also, before you say the smut was weird or stylized weird or there wasn't enough or there was too much, lemme tell you: thank you for your input, but I did that entire scene exactly how I wanted to. It's intended to have a million run-ons and whatnot. This is a very train-of-thought kind of scene. I wanted it to feel a little clumsy.**

**Anyways, thanks for reading!  
**

**EDIT: CRAP CRAP CRAP CAN'T BELIEVE I FORGOT THIS. Thanks to KimiruMai for her initial feedback and editing, I appreciate it.**


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